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MV/A^ID^.RLV^ 


°  INDEX 
OF 
AUTH0F(5 


Anon. 


Sir  Penny 

I  had  both  Money  and  a  Friend  

King  Edward  IV.  and  the  Tanner  of  Tamworth 
Gossip  Mine 
Trust  in  Women 
The  Clown's  Courtship     ... 
A  new  Courtly  Sonnet,   of  the    Lady  Green- 
sleeves,  to  the  new  tune  of  "  Greensleeves" 
Captain  Wedderburn's  Courtship 
Unfortunate  Miss  Bailey 

Siege  of  Belgrade 

Epigram 

Allister  M'Allister 

Hock  verst4S  Falernian 


BOSANQUET,  K.  CARR. 

The  Dean's  Story  ... 


23 
54 
57 
59 

60 
68 
95 
175 
204 
224 
236 


B.\RHAM,  Rev.  R  H. 

The  Forlorn  One    ...         ...         ...         ...         ...     250 

Mr.  Barney  Maguire's  Account  of  the  Corona- 
tion              -02 


280 


vi  Humorous  Verse 


PAOB 


BoswELL,  Sir  Alexander. 

Jenny's  Bawbee      205 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas 204 

Burns,  Robert. 

What  can  a  young  Lassie           82 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't 84 

Oh  aye  my  wife  she  dang  me     ...         ...         ...  86 

John  Barleycorn     234 

Tarn  o' Shanter      237 

Byron,  Lord. 

Love  in  Idleness 215 

Money          225 

Don  Juan  approaches  London   ...         ...         ...  300 

Calverley,  Charles  Stuart. 

A  Charade 163 

Gemini  and  Virgo 309 

Ode  to  Tobacco      316 

Canning,  George. 

The  Knife-grinder 177 

The  University  of  GGttingen       211 

Carroll,  Lewis. 

Some  Hallucinations        318 

Chaocer,  Geoffrey. 

Chauntecleer  and  Pertelote        i 

The  Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue      50 

Coleridge,  S.  T. 

The  Devil's  Thoughts      226 

Cologne        ...         ...         ...         ...         ...        ...  237 

CONGREVE,  William. 

Buxom  Joan            78 


Index  of  Authors  vii 

PACK 

Cotton,  Charles. 

The  Joys  of  Marriage        73 

Couch,  Arthur  T.  Quiller. 

The  Famous  Ballad  of  the  Jubilee  Cup  ...     332 

Cowley,  Abraham. 

The  Chronicle.    A  Ballad  64 

CowpER,  William. 

The  Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin  ...         ...     267 

The  Retired  Cat     277 

Cunningham,  Allan. 

John  Grumlie  67 

There  dwalt  a  Man  232 

Deane,  Anthony  C. 

Here  is  the  Tale     155 

Dillon,  Viscount. 

The  Donnybrook  Jig         244 

DoBSON,  Austin. 

Dora  ii«;-sMs  Rose    ...  ...         ...         ...  97 

The  Poet  and  the  Critics  167 

The  Maltworm's  Madrigal  228 

Dunbar,  William. 

The  Devil's  Inquest  28 

Amends  to  the  Tailors  and  i>outar.i      35 

Ff.rrier,  Miss. 

Two  last  stanzas  of  "  The  Laird  o'  Cockpen  "      89 

Gilbert,  W.  S. 

The  Story  of  Prince  Agib  313 

To  the  Terrestrial  Globe  317 

Eltiquette      319 


yiii      ^  Humorous  Verse 

PACK 
GODLEY,  A.  D. 

After  Horace           no 

The  Journalist  Abroad      i66 

Graeculus  Esuriens           195 

Pensees  de  Nogl     ...  327 

Goldsmith,  Oliver. 

An  Elegy  on  the  Glory  of  her  Sex,  Mrs.  Mary 

Blaize 83 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad  Dog         ...         ...     266 

GOOGE,  Barnaby. 

Out  of  Sight,  out  of  Mind  22 

Graves,  Alfred  P. 

Father  O'Flynn      223 

Gray,  Thomas. 

On  the  Death  of  a  Favourite  Cat  275 

Grubbe,  J. 

St.  George  for  England     290 

Guthrie,  T.  Anstey. 

Burglar  Bill  ...     147 

Henley,  W.  E. 

As  like  the  Woman  as  you  can 100 

Villon's  Straight  Tip  to  all  Cross  Coves  ...  112 

Culture  in  the  Slums         ...         ...         ...         ...  143 

Henryson,  Robert 

Tale  of  the  Upland  Mouse  and  the  Burgess 

Mouse  ...         ...         ...         ...         ...       31 

Herrick,  Robert. 

A  Ternary  of  Littles,  upon  a  Pipkin  of  Jelly 

sent  to  a  Lady  40 

No  Fault  in  Women         63 


Index  of  Authors  ix 

PACK 

Heywood,  Thomas. 

Valerius  on  Women           63 

The  way  to  know  a  Dainty  Dapper  Wench    ...  66 

The  Englishman 289 

Hilton,  A.  C. 

The  Vulture  and  the  Husbandman       132 

Octopus         138 

Hood,  Thomas. 

Faithless  Sally  Brown      90 

Mary's  Ghost          93 

The  Double  Knock            i73 

Blank  Verse  in  Rhyme      .  175 

Faithless  Nelly  Gray         .  212 

John  Trot .  219 

I'm  not  a  Single  Man        246 

Howard,  H.  Newman. 

A  Ballad  of  Sir  Kay          201 

James  V.  of  Scotland,  King. 

The  Gaberlunzie  Man       37 

Lang,  Andrew. 

Double  Ballade  of  Primitive  Man          307 

Ballade  of  Cricket 331 

Lehmann,  R.  C. 

To  the  Master  of  Trinity 261 

Middle  Age  ...         ...         ...         ...         ...          ..  324 

Lever,  Charles  . 

The  Widow  Malone          87 

Bad  Luck  to  this  Marching         306 

LiNDESAY,  Sir  David. 

A  Carman's  Account  of  a  Law-Suit      ...         ...  36 

LocHORE,  Robert. 

Marriage  and  the  care  o't           73 


X  Humofous  Verse 

PAGK 
LOCKHART,  J.  G. 

Captain  Paton         253 

Lydgate,  John. 

The  London  Lackpenny 13 

Lysaght,  Edward. 

Kitty  of  Coleraine 96 

Maginn,  Doctor. 

The  Lady's  Pocket  Adonis         ...      ...         ...     207 

Saint  Patrick  298 

Maxwell,  J.  C. 

Rigid  Body  Sings 258 

Milton,  John. 

On  the  Oxford  Carrier     40 

Moore,  Thomas. 

To  Fanny     95 

Nairne,  Lady. 

The  Laird  o'  Cockpen      88 

Pain,  Barry. 

The  Poets  at  Tea 135 

Martin  Luther  at  Potsdam  145 

Bangkolidye  340 

Peacock,  T.  Love. 

The  War-song  of  Dinas  Vawr     ...         ...         ...     200 

PiGOTT,  MOSTYN   T. 

The  Hundred  Best  Books  171 

"  You  are  young,  Kaiser  William  '        194 

Planche,  J.  R. 

The  Collegian  and  the  Porter     258 


Index  of  Authors 


Pollock,  Sir  Frederick. 

The  Hound's  Tail's  Case 

Lines  on  the  Daath  of  a  College  Cat 

Prafd,  W.  M. 

The  Lay  of  the  Cheese  . . . 
The  London  University  ... 
A  Song  of  Impossibilities 

Utopia  

The  New  Order  of  Things 
Pledges 

Prior,  Matthew. 

Epistle  to  Fleetwood  Shephard,  Esq. 
The  Chameleon 

A  Simile       

Bibo  and  Charon 

Prout,  Father. 

The  Sabine  Farmer's  Serenade 

Rodger,  Alexander. 

Behave  yoursel'  before  Folk       

Robin  Tamson's  Smiddy  

Ropes,  Arthur  Reed. 

The  Lost  Pleiad      

Seaman,  Owen. 

A  Plea  for  Trigamy  

At  the  Sign  of  the  Cock 

To  Mr.  Alfred  Austin       

To  the  Lord  of  Potsdam 

Shakespeare,  W  illiam. 

From  "  A  Midsummer  Night  s  Dream  " 
Skelton, John. 

The  Complaint  of  a  Rustic  against  the  Clergy 

Smith,  James. 

Surnames     


169 
283 

179 
181 
184 
186 
190 
192 

41 
47 
48 

49 

209 

80 


330 

99 
140 
158 
198 


251 


Xll 


Humorous  Verse 


Smith,  J.  and  H. 

Cui  Bono? 

The  Rebuilding      

Plaj'house  Musings 

The  Living  Lustres  

The  Theatre  

Stevenson,  R.  L. 

Not  I 

Stephen,  J.  K. 

Sincere  Flattery  of  F.  W.  H.  Myers 
ToR.  K 

Still,  John. 

Jolly  Good  Ale  and  Old 

Suckling,  Sir  John. 

A  Wedding 

Swift,  Dean. 

A  Gentle  Echo  on  Woman 

Sykes,  Arthur  A. 

The  Tour  that  never  was 

Symonds,  J.  A. 

The  Confession  of  Golias 

Thackeray,  W.  M. 

When  Moonlike  ore  the  Hazure  Seas 
The  Sorrows  of  Werther  ... 
The  Ballad  of  Bouillabaisse 

Little  Billee  

The  Crystal  Palace 

Trevelyan,  Sir  Geo.  O. 
Advertisements 

TYTLER,  JAME.S. 

1  hae  Lnid  a  Herring  in  Saut 


113 
117 
123 
126 
129 

315 

342 
343 


74 


79 


328 


16 


229 

233 

284 

256 
204 


INDEX  TO 
FIR5T 
LINES 


"  A  Captain  bold  from  Halifax  " 

"  A  fig  for  St.  Dennis  of  France  " 

'*  A  little  saint  best  tits  a  little  shrine  " 

'•  A  poet's  cat,  sedate  and  grave  " 

''  A  povre  widwe,  somdel  stape  in  age" 

"  A  soldier  and  a  sailor  "      . 

"  A  street  there  is  in  Paris  famous  "     . 

"  Ah  !  why  those  piteous  sounds  of  woe  ?  " 

"  An  Austrian  army  awfully  arrayed  " 

*'  As  beautiful  Kitty  one  morning  was  trippings" ' 

"  As  like  the  woman  as  you  can  " 

"  As  once  a  twelvemonth  to  the  priest " 

"  As  some   Peter-house  fellows,  one  day,  I  hav 

heard"      .... 
"  As  the  chameleon,  who  is  known" 
"  At  Trin.  Coll.  Cam.,  which  means 
"  Bad  luck  to  this  marching  " 
"  Behave  yoursel'  before  folk  "     . 


PACB 

92 
298 

40 

277 

I 

78 
220 
250 
«75 


41 

236 

47 

258 

306 

89 


XIV 


Humorous  Verse 


"  Ben  Battle  was  a  soldier  bold  " 

' '  Between  now  and  my  holidays  " 

"  Betwixt  twal'  hours  and  eleven  " 

"  Boiling  in  my  spirit's  veins  " 

'•  Dear  Thomas,  did'st  thou  never  pop" 

'•  Did  ye  hear  of  the  Widow  Malone  " 

"  Dr,  Butler,  may  I  venture" 

"  Echo,  I  ween,  will  in  the  wood  reply  " 

"  Esop,  mine  author,  makes  mention  " 

"  Even  is  come  ;  and  from  the  dark  Park,  hark ' 

"  From  his  brimstone  bed  at  break  of  day  " 

"  First,  there's  the  Bible  "    . 

"  First,  when  Maggie  was  my  care  "     . 

"  From  the  tragic-est  novels  of  Mudie's" 

"  Gimme  my  scarlet  tie  " 

"  Gin  a  bovly  meet  a  body  " 

"  Good  people  all,  of  every  sort " 

"  Good  people  all  with  one  accord  "     . 

"  Greensleeves  was  all  my  joy  "    . 

"  He  lived  in  a  cave  by  the  seas  " 

"  Here  lieth  one  who  did  most  truly  prove  " 

"  He  thought  he  saw  an  elephant  " 

"  How  uneasy  is  his  life  "     . 

"  How  beauteous  are  rouleaus  !  "  . 

"  I  am  a  blessed  Glendoveer  " 

' '  I  cannot  eat  but  little  meat "     . 

"I  drink  of  the  Ale  of  South  wark  " 

"  If  I  could  scare  the  light  away  " 

"  If  those  who  wield  the  rod  forget  "     . 

"  If  we  oflfend,  it  is  with  our  goodwill  " 


Index  to  First  Lines 


"  1  had  both  money  and  a  friend  " 

"  I  hae  laid  a  herring  in  saut  "     . 

"  I  met  four  chaps  yon  birks  amang  "  . 

•'  In  earth  it  is  a  little  thing  "       . 

•*  In  summer  time,  when  leaves  grow  greene  " 

"  In  Koln,  a  town  of  monks  and  bones  " 

•'  I  tell  thee,  Dick,  where  I  have  been  " 

'*  I've  been  trying  to  fashion  a  wifely  ideal " 

"I  will  you  tell  a  full  good  sport"    . 

"  John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen  " 

"  John  Grumlie  swore  by  the  light  o'  the  moon  ' 

"  John  Trot  he  was  as  tall  a  lad  " 

•'  King  George,  observing  with  judicious  eyes." 

'•  Lady,  I  loved  you  all  last  year  " 

"  Let  her  eye  be  clear,  and  her  brow  severe  " 

"  Majestic  Monarch,  whom  the  other  gods" 

"  Margarita  first  possessed  " 

"  Marry,  I  lent  my  gossip  my  mare  "    . 

"  Men  once  were  sumamed   for   their   shape   or 
estate  "      

"  My  mither  men't  my  auld  breeks  "     . 

•'  My  pensive  public,  wherefore  look  you  sad  ?  " 

"  Needy  knife-grinder,  whither  are  you  going  ? 

"  Never  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses  "  . 

"  No  fault  in  women  to  refuse  "    . 

"  Now  Jack  looked  up,  it  was  time  to  sup  " 

"0  Allister  M'Allister"      .... 

"  O  crikey  Bill !     She  ses  to  me,  she  ses  "    . 

"  Och  !  the  Coronation  !  "    . 

' '  Of  priests  we  can  offer  a  charmin'  variety ' ' 


XVI 


Humorous  Verse 


"  Oh,  aye,  my  wife  she  dang  me  " 

"  Oh  !  'twas  Dermot  O'Nolan  M'Figg  '' 

'' On  Balaclava's  fatal  plain" 

■'  O  where,  O  where  is  my  leetle  hound's  tail  " 

"  O  why  should  our  dull  retrospective  addresses 

"  Pour,  varlet,  pour  the  water  "     . 

"  Quoth  John  to  Joan,  wilt  thou  have  me  ?  " 

"*  Quoth  Rab  to  Kate,  my  sonsy  dear'' 

"  Rat-tat  it  went  upon  the  lion's  chin  " 

"  Roll  on,  thou  ball,  roll  on !  "     . 

"  Rooster  her  sign  "     ..... 

"  Sated  with  home,  of  wife,  of  children,  tired  " 

"  See  where  the  K.,  in  sturdy  self-reliance  " 

"  She  that  denies  me  I  would  have  "     . 

*' Sikes,  housebreaker,  of  Houndsditch  " 

"  Some  hke  drink  "..... 

"  Some  vast  amount  of  years  ago  " 

"  Strange  beauty,  eight-limbed  and  eight-handed ' 

"  Strike  the  concertina's  melancholy  string  " 

"  Suppose  you  screeve,  or  go  cheapjack  ?  "  . 

"  That  cat,  sir,  black  and  yellow" 

"  The  Ballyshannon  foundered  " 

"  The  burden  of  hard  hitting  " 

"  The  children  of  Mercuric  and  of  Venus  "    . 

"  The  early  bird  got  up  and  whet  his  beak  " 

"The  Junior  Fellow's  vows  were  said " 

"  The  King  to  Oxford  sent  a  troop  of  horse  " 

"  The    Laird    o'    Cockpen  he's   proud  and   he' 

great  "       

"  The  Laird  of  Roslin's  daughter  " 


68 


Index  to  First  Lines 


per- 


"  The  mountain  sheep  are  sweeter" 

"  The  oftener  seen  the  more  I  lust " 

"  The  pawky  auld  carle  came  o'er  the  lee  " 

"  The  Pope,  that  pagan  full  of  pride  " 

"  The  rain  was  raining  cheerfully  " 

"  There  came  a  Grecian  admiral " 

'•  There  dwalt  a  man  into  the  West  " 

'  •  There  is  an  awkward  thing  which   much 

plexes  "      

"  There  was  a  lady  lived  at  Leith  " 

"  The  Spaniard  loves  his  ancient  slop  " 

"  The  Stor>-  of  King  Arthur  old  " 

•'  There  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol  City ' 

"There  were  three  Kings  into  the  East  " 

"  This  night  in  my  sleep  I  was  aghast  " 

"  Thou  who,  when  fears  attack  " 

"  Through  a  window  in  the  attic  " 

"  Through  groves  so  call'd  as  being  void  of  trees 

"  'Tis  sweet  to  view,  from  half-past  five  to  six  " 

"  To  London  once  my  steps  I  bent "     . 

•'  Touch  once  more  a  sober  measure  "  . 

"  'Twas  a  pretty  little  maiden  "    . 

*'  'Twas  in  the  middle  of  the  night  "     . 

"  'Twas  on  a  lofty  vase's  side  "     . 

"  'Twas  on  a  windy  night  " 

"  Well  I  confess  I  did  not  guess  " 

"  We're  sick  of  this  distressing  state" 

"  Werther  had  a  love  for  Charlotte  "    . 

"  What  asks  the  Bard  ?     He  pra  s  for  nought 

"  What  can  a  young  lassie  " 


XVUl 


Humorous  Verse 


"  What  can  it  avail  ?  " 

"What  Ho" 

"  What  lightning  shall  light  it  ?  " 

"When  Bibo    thought    fit   from    the    world    t 

retreat " 

"^\^len  a  gentleman  comes" 

•'  When  Chapman  billies  leave  the  street "'  . 

"  When  Moonlike  ore  the  Hazure  Seas  " 

"  When  Parson,  Doctor,  Don,—  " 

"  When  that  my  years  were  fewer  " 

"  When  the  landlord  wants  the  rent  " 

♦'  When  these  things  following  be   done    to   our 

intent "      .        . 
"  Whene'er  with  haggard  eyes  I  view 
**  Will  there  never  come  a  season  " 
"  With  ganial  foire  "    . 
"  Ye  dons  and  ye  doctors  "  . 
•'  You  are  young,  Kaiser  William  " 
"  You  may  lift  me  up  in  your  arms,  lac!  " 
"  Young  Ben  he  was  a  nice  young  man  ' 


20I 

'45 

49 
192 

237 
214 
166 
324 

327 

57 
211 

343 
284 
181 
194 
332 
90 


THE  EDITOR'S  FOREWORD. 

'Tis  mirth  that  fills  the  veins  with  blood, 

More  than  wine,  or  sleep,  or  food  ; 

Let  each  man  keep  his  heart  at  ease, 

No  man  dies  of  that  disease. 

He  that  would  his  body  keep 

From  diseases  must  not  weep  ; 

But  whoever  laughs  and  sings 

Never  he  his  body  brings 

Into  fevers,  gouts,  and  rheums, 

Or  lingeringly  his  lungs  consumes, 

Or  meets  with  achds  in  the  bone. 

Or  catarrhs,  or  griping  stone  ; 

But  contented  lives  for  aye, 

The  more  he  laughs  the  more  he  may. 

\_Beaiimoni  and  Fieichet-. 

I. 

A  COLLECTION  of  verse  which  stood  in  need  of 
lengthy,  preliminary  disquisitions  would  hardly 
justify  the  epithet  of  Humorous  which  is  placed  on 
the  title-page  of  this  little  Anthology.  I  do  not 
propose  therefore  to  restrain  my  readers  very  long, 
by  any  dilatory  passages  of  prose,  from  the  pleasure 


XX  Humorous  Verse 

they  may  legitimately  anticipate  in  perusing  the 
more  sprightly  pages  which  follow. 

I  have  been  wandering  of  late  in  a  smiling 
pleasure  garden,  where  there  are  blooms  for  every 
fancy,  and  flowers  of  every  hue.  Though  I  have 
pillaged  here  and  there,  the  parterres  and  the 
paths  seem  just  as  bright  now  that  I  look  back  at 
them  ;  and  the  bouquet  that  was  my  spoil  I  lay 
very  modestly  at  your  feet.  It  is  more  representa- 
tive, perhaps,  of  my  choice  in  such  matters  than  of 
your  own.  Yet  you  may  take  what  consolation 
may  be  possible  from  the  thought  that  the  taste 
of  the  most  catholic  editor,  edited  he  never  so 
wisely,  would  be  no  more  likely  to  reproduce  all 
you  may  wish  to  see.  I  could  not  recommend 
the  remedy  of  gathering  in  one  mighty  volume 
all  the  verses  that  might  be  described  as  humorous 
since  English  rhymed  at  all.  The  faint  aroma 
of  their  wit  would  disappear  beneath  the  load  of 
ink  and  paper ;  and  there  would  still  remain  the 
supreme  difficulty  of  stating  precisely  what  may  be 
defined  as  Humour.  As  will  be  seen  later  on,  I 
have  preferred  to  let  my  Poets  explain  their  own 
ideas  of  Humour  for  themselves  ;  but  if  Rabelais 
be  right,  the  definition  should  present  scant  diffi- 
culty to  the  average  mortal : — 

"  Mieulx  est  de  ris  que  de  larmes  escripre 
Pource  que  rire  est  le  propre  de  I'homme  :  " 

and  if  you  consider  the  subject  philosophically,  it 
is  no  doubt  your  possession  of  this  volume  that 
constitutes  one  of  the  great  claims  of  mankind  to 
his  superiority  over  the  brutes  that  perish  from 
sheer  lack  of  laughter.  Unfortunately  the  nation 
for  which  Rabelais  wrote  has  not  always  shovai 
herself  willing  to  be  saved  by  the  sense  of  humour 
he  possessed  ;  and  it  has  been  sometimes  levelled 
as  a  national  reproach  at  England  that  she  took 


The  Editor's  Foreword  xxi 

her  pleasures  much  too  sadly.  But  anyone  who 
cares  to  look  at  the  earlier  examples  of  English 
humour  in  these  pages  must  confess  that— if  their 
fun  was  sometimes  a  thought  robust — our  fore- 
fathers were  very  soon  and  very  easily  moved  to 
merriment :  and  if  I  may  apply  the  moral  a  little 
more  directly,  I  should  recommend  all  the  most 
melancholy  and  morose  of  modern  critics  to  take 
the  instant  antidote  of  this  collection ;  for  never 
has  that  unjust  phrase  about  genus  irritabile 
vatum  received  more  patent  refutation.  Certainly 
none  of  the  living  authors  represented  here  proved 
irritable  when  they  were  asked  to  increase  the 
gaiety  of  the  nation  by  sending  me  their  verses  for 
this  book.  I  have  made  my  particular  acknow- 
ledgments elsewhere,  both  to  authors  and  to  pub- 
lishers, but  if  there  should  be  any  involuntary 
omissions,  I  hereby  confess  my  obligations,  and 
beg  to  convey  my  gratitude,  to  all  who  have  so 
kindly  given  their  assistance,  and  more  particu- 
larly to  one  friendly  critic  who  has  saved  me  from 
innumerable  sins  and  suggested  the  most  valuable 
of  my  editorial  virtues. 

II. 

1 1  is  necessary  that  I  should  explain  some  reasons 
for  the  arrangement  of  this  volume.  There  may 
be  omissions  which  will  be  obvious  to  each 
observer  ;  but  I  have  endeavoured,  at  least,  to  give 
a  typical  example  in  each  kind,  even  if  some 
particular  instances  are  lacking.  The  author  of 
the  most  beautiful  poem  upon  pure,  light-hearted 
happiness  might  well  have  been  suspected  of  a 
vein  of  kindly  humour  ;  and  those  who  remember 
V Allegro,  will  not  be  surprised  to  find  the  Lines 
on  the  Oxford  Carrier  written  by  the  author  of 
Paradise  Lost.     Humour  might,  no  doubt,  be  dis- 


xxiv  Humorous  Verse 

poet.  I  have  been  more  influenced  by  the  treat- 
ment— and  occasionally  by  the  subject — of  a  poem 
than  by  its  authorship  or  date.  In  the  early  days, 
soon  after  Chaucer,  we  are  in  an  epoch  of  rough 
physical  humour,  of  drinking  songs,  of  simple 
fables  ;  when  law-suits  and  money,  the  unknown 
king  and  his  outspoken  subject,  the  Church  and  the 
Devil,  provided  the  stock  elements  of  laughter. 
There  was  a  directness  and  a  vital  strength  about 
these  singers  which  I  seem  to  see  reflected  in  the 
bold  detail-carvings  of  the  Gothic  Cathedrals,  where 
Humour  treads  upon  the  heels  of  the  Grotesque, 
and  laughter  is  sometimes  very  near  akin  to 
tears.  Not  until  the  spacious  days  of  Elizabethan 
literature  does  this  weight  of  inevitable  realism 
begin  to  lift.  Soon  afterwards,  the  Cavaliers  were 
among  the  most  delightful  lyrists  in  the  world,  but 
rather  in  the  passionate  than  the  humorous  vein  ; 
and  after  these  again  there  is  an  interval,  an 
interregnum,  in  which  it  may  be  recognised  that 
the  old  style  is  dead,  and  the  new  one  has  not  been 
born.  Of  this  is  the  long  newsletter,  meant  to  be 
witty,  and  occasionally  humorous.  But  the  charm 
of  the  ancient  days  had  vanished,  without  being  as 
yet  replaced  by  any  compensating  skill.  The  old 
stories  had  all  been  told,  and  there  was  no  one 
to  touch  them  with  a  new  life  or  to  find  fresh  sub- 
jects for  his  verse.  The  unfortunate  repetition 
which  comes  from  lack  of  ideas  became  common, 
and  the  "  Primitive  Jest "  flourished  in  the  land, 
only  not  perishing  outright  because,  in  Rabelais' 
phrase,  it  was  in  one  form  or  another  an  essential 
human  attribute.  As  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  has 
sung : — 

"  I  am  an  early  Jest  ! 

Man  delved,  and  built,  and  span  ; 


The  Editor's  Foreword  xxv 

Then  wandered  South  and  West 

The  peoples  Aryan, 
/journeyed  in  their  van  ; 

The  Semites,  too,  confessed, — 
From  Beei-sheba  to  Dan, — 

I  am  a  Merry  Jest  ! 

"  I  am  an  ancient  Jest, 

Through  all  the  human  clan. 
Red,  black,  white,  free,  oppressed, 

Hilarious  I  ran  ! 
I'm  found  in  Lucian, 

In  Poggio,  and  the  rest, 
I'm  dear  to  Moll  and  Nan  ! 

I  am  a  Merry  Jest !  " 

So  then,  the  First  Division  of  my  Anthology  is 
devoted  to  what  may  be  described  as  old-fashioned 
humour  out  of  which,  for  good  or  evil,  we  have 
grown  with  the  growth  of  a  veneer  of  refinement, 
with  the  spread  of  the  elements  of  knowledge,  and 
with  the  increase  of  intercommunication. 


IV. 

The  Second  Division  is  of  perennial  interest  ; 
for  in  it  I  have  collected  a  small  sheaf  from  the 
mighty  harvest  of  witticisms  written  round  about 
the  Eternal  Feminine.  Some  of  these  may  not  be 
accepted  as  "  humorous "  in  the  stricter  sense, 
inasmuch  as  they  only  give  a  touch  of  pleasant 
merriment  to  a  prettily  descriptive  episode.  Of 
such  are  "  Greensleeves  "and  "  Dowsabel,"  though 
I  could  only  print  the  first.  Sometimes  such  verses 
as  those  of  Ovid,  on  his  catholic  affection  for  all 
ladies,  seem  to  have  appealed  to  the  fancy  of  later 


xxiv  Humorous  Vcfsc 

poet.  I  have  been  more  influenced  by  the  treat- 
ment—and occasionally  by  the  subject — of  a  poem 
than  by  its  authorship  or  date.  In  the  early  days, 
soon  after  Chaucer,  we  are  in  an  epoch  of  rough 
physical  humour,  of  drinking  songs,  of  simple 
fables  ;  when  law-suits  and  money,  the  unknown 
king  and  his  outspoken  subject,  the  Church  and  the 
Devil,  provided  the  stock  elements  of  laughter. 
There  was  a  directness  and  a  vital  strength  about 
these  singers  which  I  seem  to  see  reflected  in  the 
bold  detail-carvings  of  the  Gothic  Cathedrals,  where 
Humour  treads  upon  the  heels  of  the  Grotesque, 
and  laughter  is  sometimes  very  near  akin  to 
tears.  Not  until  the  spacious  days  of  Elizabethan 
literature  does  this  weight  of  inevitable  realism 
begin  to  lift.  Soon  afterwards,  the  Cavaliers  were 
among  the  most  delightful  lyrists  in  the  world,  but 
rather  in  the  passionate  than  the  humorous  vein  ; 
and  after  these  again  there  is  an  interval,  an 
interregnum,  in  which  it  may  be  recognised  that 
the  old  style  is  dead,  and  the  new  one  has  not  been 
born.  Of  this  is  the  long  newsletter,  meant  to  be 
witty,  and  occasionally  humorous.  But  the  charm 
of  the  ancient  days  had  vanished,  without  being  as 
yet  replaced  by  any  compensating  skill.  The  old 
stories  had  all  been  told,  and  there  was  no  one 
to  touch  them  with  a  new  life  or  to  find  fresh  sub- 
jects for  his  verse.  The  unfortunate  repetition 
which  comes  from  lack  of  ideas  became  common, 
and  the  "  Primitive  Jest "  flourished  in  the  land, 
only  not  perishing  outright  because,  in  Rabelais' 
phrase,  it  was  in  one  form  or  another  an  essential 
human  attribute.  As  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  has 
sung : — 

"  I  am  an  early  Jest  ! 

Man  delved,  and  built,  and  span  ; 


The  Editor's  Foreword  xxv 

Then  wandered  South  and  West 

The  peoples  Aryan, 
/journeyed  in  their  van  ; 

The  Semites,  too,  confessed, — 
From  Beersheba  to  Dan, — 

I  am  a  Merry  Jest ! 

"  I  am  an  ancient  Jest, 

Through  all  the  human  clan. 
Red,  black,  white,  free,  oppressed, 

Hilarious  I  ran  ! 
I'm  found  in  Lucian, 

In  Poggio,  and  the  rest, 
I'm  dear  to  Moll  and  Nan  ! 

I  am  a  Merry  Jest !  " 

So  then,  the  First  Division  of  my  Anthology  is 
devoted  to  what  may  be  described  as  old-fashioned 
humour  out  of  which,  for  good  or  evil,  we  have 
grown  with  the  growth  of  a  veneer  of  refinement, 
with  the  spread  of  the  elements  of  knowledge,  and 
with  the  increase  of  intercommunication. 


IV. 

The  Second  Division  is  of  perennial  interest  ; 
for  in  it  I  have  collected  a  small  sheaf  from  the 
mighty  harvest  of  witticisms  written  round  about 
the  Eternal  Feminine.  Some  of  these  may  not  be 
accepted  as  "humorous"  in  the  stricter  sense, 
inasmuch  as  they  only  give  a  touch  of  pleasant 
merriment  to  a  prettily  descriptive  episode.  Of 
such  are  "  Greensleeves  "  and  "  Dowsabel,"  though 
1  could  only  print  the  first.  Sometimes  such  verses 
as  those  of  Ovid,  on  his  catholic  affection  for  all 
ladies,  seem  to  have  appealed  to  the  fancy  of  later 


xxvi  Humorous  Verse 

ages,  as  in  the  lines  of  Cowley,  or  of  Suckling. 
Sometimes  exactly  the  reverse  is  fashionable,  and 
we  get  a  catalogue  of  the  many  faults  which  the 
Man  was  obliged  to  find  throughout  the  ages  in 
the  Woman,  if  only  to  assert  a  general  superiority 
which  stood  occasionally  in  need  of  better  proot 
than  mere  abuse.  The  lines  on  "Trust  in 
Women"  are  a  good  example  of  this.  Though  it 
is  not  my  business  here  to  suggest  literary 
criticism,  or  to  discuss  origins,  I  cannot  forbear 
pointing  out  the  ingenious  turn  given  by  King 
James  the  Sixth  of  Scotland  and  First  of  Great 
Britain  to  this  same  subject,  in  his  poem  "  Of 
Women"  just  unearthed  by  Mr.  Robert  Rait  from 
the  Bodleian  Manuscripts.  After  detailing  the 
many  faults  of  womankind  and  giving  parallels 
in  almost  every  realm  of  natural  history,  the 
royal  poet  concludes  by  thinking  that  these 
feminine  weaknesses  are  only  the  result  of  the 
woman  being  "  nearer  nature  "  than  the  man. 

"  for  uemea  bad  heirby  are]|lesse  to  blame 
for  that  thay  follou  nature  eueryquhayre, 
&  ye  most  uorthie  prayse  quhose  reason  dantis 
that  nature  quhilk  into  youre  sexe  so  hantis." 

This  subject,  a  particular  favourite  with  the 
Scotch,  was  of  course  common  in  England  from 
the  days  of  Chaucer,  and  before  him,  in  the  Mystery 
Plays  ;  and  I  have  thought  that  this  division  might 
even  have  a  separate  value  of  its  own,  apart  from 
its  strictly  poetical  contents,  as  indicating  the  pro- 
gress of  the  various  opinions  of  women  held  by 
British  poets  during  a  long  period  of  time.  It  has 
been  suggested  that  the  fashion  of  vers  de  societi 
has  an  intimate  connection  with  the  contemporary 
position  of  women.  Locker  was  thinking  of  them 
when  he  said  that  in  such  verses  "sentiment  never 
surges  into  passion,  humour  never  overflows  into 


The  Editor's  Foreword  xxvii 

boisterous  merriment."  So  we  find  little  of  the 
kind  in  Greek  Poets,  though  Mr.  Andrew  Lang 
detects  a  trace  of  it  in  Theocritus  and  Alcman. 
The  only  deliberate  humour  I  can  recall  in  the 
fragments  of  Sappho  the  Divine  are  not  of  this 
order : — 

OvpOipw    TToScS    ITTTOpoyVLOL 

TO.  h\  (TcifJL^aXa  Trefxir€^nr]a 
TTttruyyoi   2c  Sck    i$€ir6vaa-av — 

which  might  have  been  written  of  a  College  Porter 
of  to-day,  just  as  the  fun  of  the  "Frogs"  of 
Aristophanes  filled  the  new  Theatre  at  Oxford 
with  appreciative  modern  audiences.  But  these, 
and  the  rest,  write  not  for  women.  It  was  to  men, 
too,  that  Catullus  and  Martial,  Horace  and  Ovid 
really  appealed,  in  spite  of  tender  dedications- 
For  a  long  while  the  songs  that  would  have  suited 
English  ladies  were  written  only  for  the  music  of 
their  amorous  swains,  and  so  came  the  "love-mak- 
ing in  numbers"  of  the  Cavaliers.  But  at  the  present 
day  the  changes  that  have  occurred  in  the  position 
and  the  outlook  of  women  are  fairly  faithfully 
reflected  in  our  humorous]  verse.  "  Once  our 
superiors,  now  our  equals,"  women  exercise  a 
strong  fascination  over  the  light-hearted  modern 
versifier,  and  we  have  happily  emerged  unscatked 
from  the  Epoch  of  the  Mother-in-Law,  which 
continues  still  so  popular  across  the  Channel. 


V. 


My  Third  Division  chiefly  deals  with  Parody, 
though  I  have  included  in  it  certain  efforts  in 
versification,  which  depend  for  their  success  upon 
what   may   be   described   as  secondary   interests 


xxviii  Humorous  Verse 

verses  which  achieve  a  literary  triumph  over  the 
alphabet,  or  over  self-imposed  difficulties  of  metre ; 
verses  which  take  as  their  deliberate  theme  such 
subjects  as  criticism,  the  journalistic  instinct,  legal 
documents,  or  even  a  bookseller's  catalogue;  verses 
which  propound  that  kind  of  rhyming  riddle  known 
as  the  Charade.  These,  it  seems  to  me,  should, 
for  one  reason  or  another,  stand  somewhat  by 
themselves;  they  do  not  exhibit  that  judicious 
blend  of  subject  and  treatment  which  appeals  to 
me  in  the  best  humorous  verse  ;  for  they  are 
either  examples  of  what  tricks  ckn  be  played  with 
words  and  rhymes  and  metres,  apart  from  any 
interest  that  is  to  be  expected  from  their  subject 
matcer,  or  they  deliberately  choose  a  topic  which 
is  restricted  to  an  audience  of  specialists.  They 
could  hardly  be  excluded  from  any  collection 
which  endeavoured  to  be  typical  within  its  limits. 
On  the  other  hand  they  scarcely  deserved  a 
division  to  themselves ;  so  I  have  placed  them, 
rather  for  convenient  than  logical  reasons,  at  the 
end  of  the  division  which  begins  with  Parody,  for 
after  all.  Parody  draws  its  chief  justification  and 
its  brightest  chance  of  success  from  the  literary 
accident  that  the  original  suggestion  is  familiar  to 
the  reader. 

It  must  not  for  a  moment  be  imagined  that  I 
would  in  the  least  disparage  the  art  of  Parody. 
This  is  no  place  to  consider  its  value  as  compared 
with  that  of  original  work.  Parody  like  that  of 
the  "Rejected  Addresses  "  is  not  mere  mimicry.  It 
is  a  joy  in  itself,  which  gains  by  its  associations 
and  loses  nothing  of  its  jocund  originality  ;  which 
is  able  to  laugh  at  the  follies  of  a  whole  school  o 
thought  as  well  as  at  the  weaknesses  of  any  indi- 
vidual writer.  In  at  least  one  instance  I  have 
placed    an    obvious    parody    outside    my    Third 


The  Editor's  Foreword  xxix 

Division,  for  the  reason  that  its  value  as  a  sepa- 
rately humorous  creation  seemed  to  me  greater 
than  its  accidental  importance  as  an  imitative 
effort.  Several  other  cases  may  be  noticed  else- 
where, in  which  I  have  thought  it  right  to  sacrifice 
any  Editorial  logicality  of  arrangement  to  the  mere 
pleasure  of  my  reader. 

The  "Rejected  Addresses"  were  written  on  the 
opening  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre  when  it  was  rebuilt 
after  a  fire.  The  management  had  invited  Ad- 
dresses appropriate  to  the  occasion  ;  and  the  clever 
authors  of  the  series  published  in  October,  1812, 
gave  what  were  supposed  to  be  the  unsuccessful 
efforts  of  various  well-known  writers.  It  is  not  a 
little  amusing  to  read  among  them  now  the 
genuine  effusion  which  OTie  of  the  Parodists  them- 
selves submitted  as  his  honest  idea  of  what  was 
appropriate  to  the  ceremony.  It  was  signed  "  S.  T. 
P.,"  and  according  to  the  Edinburgh  Review  it 
exhibited  no  "very  prominent  trait  of  absurdity." 
That  is  the  most  that  can  be  said  for  it  to-day. 
The  real  Parodies,  however,  are  on  a  very  different 
level.  Twenty  years  afterwards  they  were  re-issued 
with  every  circumstance  of  appreciation,  and  their 
half-copyright  was  sold  to  Mr.  Miller,  a  dramatic 
publisher,  for  a  thousand  pounds.  I  only  mention 
this  last  point  as  an  encouragement  to  those 
modern  writers  whose  notice  it  may  have  escaped, 
and  whose  works,  I  think  it  may  be  justly  said, 
are,  in  at  least  one  case,  even  superior  in  this  line 
to  the  "  Rejected  Addresses  "  themselves. 

Fourth  among  my  few  arbitrary  divisions  comes 
that  devoted  to  Politics,  in  which  Canning  and 
Praed  are  obvious  exemplars.  Praed,  indeed, 
seems  to  me  so  much  more  successful  in  this  line 
than  in  his  "society  verses"  that  I  have  not 
inserted  any  of  the  latter.     I  have  not  devoted  too 


XXX  Humorous  Verse 

much  space  to  political  poems,  inasmuch  as  they  are 
more  open  than  many  other  kinds  of  verse  to  the 
charge  of  a  merely  ephemeral  appeal,  and  to  the 
consequent  necessity  of  the  explanations  which  I 
have  shunned  as  far  as  possible.  But  those  I  have 
inserted  seem  to  me  to  possess  a  claim  to  merit 
entirely  apart  from  the  temporary  interest  of  their 
immediate  subject. 


VL 


Lastly  comes  the  Fifth  Division  ot  my  Humorous 
Verse,  which,  if  briefly  characterised,  might  be 
said  to  contain  all  that  could  not  be  included  in 
any  of  the  first  four  divisions  just  described.  Yet 
1  should  not  desire  it  to  be  labelled  as  the  mis- 
cellaneous refuge  for  every  witty  rhyme  that  is 
unworthy  stricter  classification.  Its  choice  has 
been  dictated  by  principles  which  will  no  doubt 
remain  clearer  to  myself  than  to  my  readers, 
though  the  net  result  will,  I  trust,  prove  equally 
satisfactory  to  both.  There  is  a  kind  of  verse  in 
which  the  poet  "  rattles  on  exactly  as  he'd  talk," 
with  all  the  effect  of  a  pleasantly  amusing  con- 
versation. As  Byron  says,  who  has  described 
this  too  :  - 

"  I  don't  know  that  there  may  be  much  ability 
Shown  in  this  sort  of  desultory  rhyme  ; 

But  there  's  a  conversational  facility. 
Which  may  round  off  an  hour  upon  a  time. 

Of  this  I  'm  sure  at  least,  there  's  no  servility 
In  mine  irregularity  of  chime. 

Which  rings  what 's  uppermost  of  new  or  hoary 

Just  as  I  feel  the  '  Improvisatore.' 


The  Editor's  Foreword  xxxi 

"*  Omnia  vult  belle  Matho  dicere— die  aliquando 
Et  bene,  die  neutrum,  die  aliquando  male.' 

The  first  is  rather  more  than  mortal  ean  do ; 
The  second  may  be  sadly  done  or  gaily ; 

The  third  is  still  more  diffieult  to  stand  to ; 

The  fourth  we  hear,  and  see,  and  say  too,  daily  ; 

The  whole  together  is  what  I  eould  wish 

To  serve  in  this  conundrum  of  a  dish. 


"  We  '11  do  our  best  to  make  the  best  on  't : — March  ! 

March   my    Muse  1       If    you    cannot    fly,    yet 
flutter ; 
And  when  you  may  not  be  sublime,  be  arch. 

Or  starch,  as  are  the  edicts  statesmen  utter. 
We  surely  may  find  somethmg  worth  research  : 

Columbus  found  a  new  world  in  a  cutter. 
Or  brigantine,  or  pink,  of  no  great  tonnage, 
While  yet  America  was  in  her  non-age." 

However  the  generality  hinted  at  may  be  de- 
fined, I  am  clear  that  the  literature  of  any  country 
would  be  poorer  without  it,  and  the  life  of  any 
nation  poorer  still.  It  is  not  only  that  pure  fun, 
and  hearty  laughter,  is  good  for  anyone.  But  we 
need  an  occasional  contrast ;  and  it  is  to  our 
lighter  poets  that  we  should  be  grateful  for  an 
outlook  upon  life,  and  an  addition  to  our  stock  of 
pleasurable  emotions  which  is  not  easily  under- 
valued. Mr.  Austin  Dobson  has  expressed  a  part 
of  what  I  mean,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  take  his 
lines  as  a  suggestion  of  the  feeling  that  is  in  my 
mind  : — 

"  In  our  hearts  is  the  Great  One  of  Avon 

Engraven, 
And  we  climb  the  cold  summits  once  built  on 

By  Milton. 


xxxii  Humorous  Verse 

"  But  at  times  not  the  air  that  is  rarest 

Is  fairest, 
And  we  long  in  the  valley  to  follow 

Apollo. 

"  Then  we  drop  from  the  heights  atmospheric 
To  Herrick, 

Or  we  pour  the  Greek  honey,  grown  blander, 
Of  Landor  ; 

"  Or  our  cosiest  nook  in  the  shade  is 

Where  Praed  is, 

Or  we  toss  the  light  bells  of  the  mocker 
With  Locker. 

"  Oh,  the  song  where  not  one  of  the  Graces 
Tight-laces, — 

Where  we  woo  the  sweet  Muses  not  starchly. 
But  archly, — 

"  Where  the  verse,  like  a  piper  a- Maying, 
Comes  playing,— 

And  the  rhyme  is  as  gay  as  a  dancer 
In  answer, — 

"  It  will  last  till  men  weary  of  pleasure 
In  measure ! 

It  will  last  till  men  weary  of  laughter    .    .    . 
And  after  ! " 

But  it  would  be  unfair  to  say  that  we  only 
appreciate  our  humorous  poets  as  we  should  enjoy 
a  saunter  in  the  sunny  meadows  that  spread 
beneath  the  snowy  summits  of  Parnassus.  They 
are  rapidly  proving  their  right  to  an  especial 
position  of  their  own,  and  to  a  proportionally  large 
share  of  the  public  gratitude.  There  still  exists 
of  course,  the  minor  Bard  who  is  content  to  raise 
a  laugh  merely  by  unexpected  rhymes,  or  metrical 


The  EcJitor*s  Foreword  xxxiii 

gymnastics,  in  efforts  which  he  wishes  us  to  accept 
as  comic.  But  here  and  there  a  scholarly  exception 
is  to  be  found  with  a  conception  of  his  art  which 
seems  to  indicate  a  very  different  ideal.  The  short 
line,  the  artful  ending,  the  divided  word^these  are 
but  humble  weapons  in  his  armoury.  His  epithets 
are  never  otiose,  nor  does  he  admit  the  least 
inversion  :  he  files  and  chisels  till  the  verse  rings 
true.  We  consequently  get  something  which  is  not 
merely  amusing  but  also  good  in  itself,  something 
which  may  be  worthily  included  in  that  exhortation 
"  To  Live  Merrily  and  to  Trust  to  Good  Verses  " 
which  Herrick  so  long  ago  indited  :-- 

'■  Now  is  the  time  for  mirth 

Nor  cheek  or  tongue  be  dumb  ; 

For  to  the  flow'ry  earth, 
The  golden  pomp  is  come. 

"  The  golden  pomp  is  come  ; 

For  now  each  tree  does  wear, 
Made  of  her  pap  and  gum, 

Rich  beads  of  amber  here. 

"  Now  reigns  the  Rose,  and  now 
The  Arabian  dew  besmears 

My  uncontrolled  brow. 
And  my  retorted  hairs. 

*  *  ♦  ' 

"  Trust  to  good  verses  then  ; 

They  only  will  aspire 
When  pyramids,  as  men, 

Are  lost  i'  th'  funeral  fire 

"And  when  all  bodies  meet 

In  Lethe,  to  be  drowned ; 
Then  only  numbers  sweet. 

With  endless  life  are  crowned." 

c 


xxxiv  Humorous  Verse 

The  advance  in  our  critical  standards  of  all  versi- 
fication has  perhaps  involved  a  certain  penalty 
upon  the  writer  whose  aim  was  once  merely  to  raise 
a  laugh,  without  much  caring  how  he  did  it. 
Rightly  or  wrongly  he  is  judged  in  a  higher  court 
now  than  was  once  the  case.  The  smile  he  could 
once  confidently  anticipate  does  not  appear.  It 
is  wholly  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  reader  who 
is  expected  to  smile  that  I  have  written  these 
introductory  pages,  and  have  left  the  Poets  to  tell 
you,  in  their  own  words,  what  Mirth  and  Humour 
meant  to  them  in  verse.  It  is  not  mine  to  analyse 
their  methods  of  production,  or,  with  the  fatal 
knowledge  of  the  craftsman,  to  enlarge  on  the 
delights  of  sudden  contrast,  or  of  unexpected 
endings ;  on  the  perils  of  the  elaborate  under- 
statement, and  the  no  less  elaborate  exaggeration  ; 
on  the  triumphs  of  polysyllabic  rhyming,  or  the 
subtle  joys  of  melody.  Yet  I  cannot  dismiss  the 
faculty  of  humorous  verse-writing  without  a  single 
observation.  One  of  the  greatest  of  our  imagin- 
ative writers,  Carlyle,  was  essentially  a  humourist- 
He  could  not  endure  the  form  of  verse.  Dickens 
possessed  as  much  imagination,  and  more 
humour,  though  each  was  very  difterent  in  its 
quality.  He  could  only  make  his  points  in  piose. 
Thackeray's  poems  are  as  delightful  as  his  sketches. 
But  neither  are  on  the  same  level  of  art  as  his 
novels.  The  rich  vein  of  poetry  that  was  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  does  not  seem  to  have  been  so  favourable 
as  were  his  prose-works  to  the  expression  of  the 
humour  that  is  a  characteristic  of  his  personality. 
I  am  thus  led  to  doubt  whether  Humorous  Verse 
can  ever  be  the  chosen  form  of  expression  of  the 
greatest  intellects  of  any  age,  though  they  may 
frequently  employ  it  as  the  momentary  utterance 
of  a  thought  to  which  it  is  appropriate.      Yet  the 


The  Editor's  Foreword  xxxv 

nation  which  is  without  this  form  of  literary  art  is 
almost  certain  to  be  lacking  in  the  greater  forms 
as  well,  and,  at  the  very  least,  to  be  deprived  of 
one  of  the  best  delights  of  social  life. 

Far  from  ever  growing  less,  either  in  merit  or 
in  volume,  Humorous  Verse  is,  in  my  opinion,  only 
in  its  infancy.  For  though  competition  has  so 
sub-divided  the  field  that  trifles  are  occasionally 
fetched  from  far  to  tickle  the  palate  of  the  jaded 
epicure,  yet  this  very  tendency  has  revealed  an 
ever  growing  sphere  in  which  the  social  and 
political  critic  may  make  merry  over  the  constant 
differences  between  the  Ideal  and  the  Real, 
between  human  desires  and  human  conditions  ; 
and  I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  the  suggestion 
that  the  most  constant  and  lasting  material  for 
humour  will  be  found  in  the  numberless  instances 
of  incompatibility  and  inconsistency  which  a 
constantly  advancing  civilisation  will  discover  in 
every  branch  of  life  and  thought.  Every  new 
generation  enjoys  not  merely  its  own  experience 
of  this,  but  also  the  remembrance  of  similar 
errors  in  the  past.  History  itself  is  but  the 
perpetual  unmasking  of  one  more  or  less  grotesque 
illusion  after  another.  So  that,  as  the  modern 
Humorous  Poet  has  a  greater  choice  of  subject 
than  any  of  his  predecessors,  so  will  his  followers 
reap  a  still  greater  advantage  from  the  lapse  of 
time ;  and  it  is  but  just  to  conclude  that  the 
advance  in  style  and  treatment  which  is  familiar  to 
ourselves  will  be  continued  in  ages  that  are 
scarcely  likely  to  become  less  critical  than  ours. 

Yet  it  is  without  any  attempt  whatever  at  suggest- 
ing a  comparative  standard  of  merits  that  I  have 
made  this  little  excursion  into  Humorous  Verse. 
The  gradual  change  in  what  has  been  accepted  as 
humour  has  indeed  been  as  interesting  to  me  as 


xxxvi  Htunofotts  Vcfse 

the  evolution  of  what  was  considered  to  be  fair 
criticism  of  Woman.  But  my  chief  motive  has 
been  the  very  simple  and  modest  one  of  providing 
you  with  a  book  into  which  you  may  dip  at 
intervals  with  the  certainty  of  finding  somewhere 
a  solace  for  your  most  pessimistic  feelings.  I  would 
choose  for  it  that  hour  which  Martial  once  claimed 
as  his  : — 

"  Haec  hora  est  tua,  cum  furit  Lyaei  s, 
Cum  regnat  rosa,  cum  madent  capilli, 
Tunc  me  vel  rigidi  legant  Catones  :" 

for  this  is  not  a  volume  to  be  read  from  cover  to 
cover  at  a  sitting,  but  a  kindly  comrade  whose 
mood  will  never  vary  and  whose  first  wish  is  to 
amuse. 

Theodore  Andrea  Cook. 


The  Editor  and  Publishers  desire  to  express  their 
very  sincere  thanks  to  the  following  Publishers, 
Authors,  and  other  owners  of  Copyright  for  per- 
mission to  include  the  undermentioned  poems, 

Messrs.  G.  Bell  &  Sons  and  Mrs.  Calverlev. — 
Three  poems,  by  C.  S.  Calverley. 

Messrs.  Chatto  &  Windus  and  Mr.  Horatio  F. 
Brown. —"  The  Confession  of  Golias,"  from 
*'  Wine,  Women,  and  Song,"  by  J.  A.  Symonds. 

Messrs.  Macmillan  Sc  Co. — Four  verses  from  "  Sylvie 
and  Bruno,"  by  Lewis  Carroll. 

Messrs.  Metcalfe  &  Co.,  Ltd. — "  The  Octopus," 
"  The  Vulture  and  the  Husbandman,"  by  the  late 
A.  C.  Hilton,  from  "  The  Light  Green." 

Sir  Herbert  Stephen.  Two  poems  by  J.  K. 
Stephen  from  "  Lapsus  Calami." 


"R.  Carr   Bosanquet. — "The   Dean's   Story,"    from 
"  The  Granta." 

A.  T.  Quiller  Couch.—"  The  Jubilee  Cup." 

Anthony  C.  Dkane. — No.  i,  from  "New  Rhymes  for 
Old"  (John  Lane). 

Austin  Dobson. — Four  poems  ftom  "At  the  Sign  of 
the  Lyre  "  (Kegan  Paul). 

W.  S.  Gilbert.— Three  poems  from  "  The  Bab  Ballads" 
(G.  Routledge  &  Sons). 


xxxviii  Humorous  Vcfsc 

A.  D.  GoDLEV.  —  Four  poems  from  "Lyra  Frivola '' 
(Methuen  &  Co.). 

A.  P.  Graves. — "  Father  O'Flj-nn," 

T.  Anstey  Guthrie  ("  F.  Anstey  ").—•'  Burglar  Bill," 
from  "Mr.  Punch's  Young  Reciter"  (Brad- 
bury, Agnew). 

W.  E.  Henley. — "Culture  in  the  Slums,"  "Villon's 
Straight  Tip  to  all  Cross  Coves,"  and  "  As  like 
the  Woman  as  you  can  "  (D.  NuTl^. 

H.  Newman  Hoavard. — "  Ballad  of  Sir  Kay." 

Andrew  L\ng. — "  Double  Ballade  on  Primitive  Man," 
from  "Ballades  on  Blue  China"  (Kegan  Paul, 
Trench  &  Co.)  ;  "  Ballade  on  Cricket  " 
and  "The  Primitive  Jest,"  from  "  Rhymes  a  la 
Mode  "  (Kegan  Paul). 

R.  C.  Lehmann. — "The  Master  of  Trinity"  and 
"Middle  Age,"  from  "  Anni  Fugaces "  (John 
L.\ne). 

Barry  Pain.  —  "  Martin  Luther  at  Potsdam," 
"Bangkolidye,"  from  "The  Granta";  and  "The 
Poets  at  Tea,"  from  "  Jn  Cap  and  Gown." 

AIostyn  T.  Pigott.  —  "  You  are  young,  Kaiser 
AVilliam,"  from  "  Songs  of  the  Session  "  (Innks 
&  Co.),  and  "The  Hundred  Best  Books,"  from 
"  The  World." 

Sir  F.  Pollock. — "The  Hound's  Tail's  Case"  and 
"  Lines  on  the  Death  of  a  College  Cat,"  from 
"Leading   Cases  and  other  Diversions"    (Mac- 

millan). 


Acknowledgments  xxxix 

Arthur  R.  Ropks  ('Adrian  Ross"). — "The  Lost 
Pleiad,"  from  "The  Greek  Slave." 

OWKN  Seaman, — "To  Mr.  Alfred  Austin"  and  "At 
the  Sign  of  the  Cock,''  from  "The  Battle  of  the 
Bays"  (John  Lane);  "To  the  Lord  of  Pots- 
dam," from  "  In  Cap  and  Bells  "  (John  Lank)  ; 
and  "A  Plea   for  Trigamy." 

Arthur  A.  Sykks. — "The  Tour  that  never  was," 
from  "  A  Book  of  Words  "  (Constable  &  Co.) 

Sir  Geo.  O.  Trevelyan.—"  Advertisements  "  from  '•  In 
Cap  and  Gown." 


HUMOROUS    VERSE 

(I-) 

CHAUNTECLEER   AND    PERTELOTE. 

B}'  Geoffrey  Chaucer. 

A  POVRE  widwe,  somdel  stape  in  age 
Was  whylom  dwelling  in  a  narwe  cotage, 
Bisyde  a  grove,  stonding  in  a  dale. 
This  widwe,  of  which  I  telle  yow  my  tale, 
Sin  thilke  day  that  she  was  last  a  wyf, 
In  pacience  ladde  a  ful  simple  lyf, 
For  litel  was  hir  catel*  and  hir  rente  ; 
By  housbondrye,  of  such  as  God  hir  sente, 
She  fond  hir-self,  and  eek  hir  doghtren  two. 
Three  large  sowes  hadde  she,  and  namo, 
Three  kyn,  and  eek  a  sheep  that  highte  Malle, 
Ful  sooty  was  hir  bourf,  and  eek  hir  halle, 
In  which  she  eet  ful  many  a  sclendre  meel. 
Of  poynaunt  sauce  hir  neded  never  a  deel. 
No  deyntee  morsel  passed  thurgh  hir  throte  ; 
Hir  dyete  was  accordant  to  hir  cote. 
Repleccioun  ne  made  hir  never  syk  ; 

•  Property,  +  Inner  room. 

B 


2  Hwmorous  Verse. 

Attempree  dyete  was  al  hir  phisyk,  -i 

And  exercyse,  and  hertes  suffisaunce.      '  ' 
The  goute  lette  hir  no-thing  for  to  daunce, 
N'apoplexye  shente*  nat  hir  heed  ; 
No  wyn  ne  drank  she,  neither  whyt  ne  reed  ; 
Hir  bord  was  served  most  with  whyt  and  blak, 
Milk  and  broun  breed,  in  which  she  fond  no  lak, 
Seyndf  bacoun,  and  somtyme  an  eyj  or  tweye. 
For  she  was  as  it  were  a  maner  deye.§ 

A  yerd  she  hadde,  enclosed  al  aboute 
With  stikkes,  and  a  drye  dich  with-oute. 
In  which  she  hadde  a  cok,  hight  Chauntecleer, 
In  al  the  land  of  crowing  nas  his  peer. 
His  vois  was  merier  than  the  mery  orgon 
On  messe-dayes  that  in  the  chirche  gon  ; 
Wei  sikererll  was  his  crowing  in  his  logge,^ 
Than  is  a  clokke,  or  an  abbey  orlogge. 
By  nature  knew  he  ech  ascencioun 
Of  equinoxial  in  thilke  toun  ; 
For  whan  degrees  fiftene  were  ascended, 
Thanne  crew  he,  that  it  mighte  nat  ben  amended. 
His  comb  was  redder  than  the  fyn  coral. 
And  batailed,  as  it  were  a  castel-wal. 
His  bile  was  blak,  and  as  the  jeet  it  shoon  ; 
Lyk  asur  were  his  legges,  and  his  toon  ; 
His  nayles  whytter  than  the  lilie  flour, 
And  lyk  the  burned  gold  was  his  colour. 
This  gentil  cok  hadde  in  his  governaunce 
Sevene  hennes,  for  to  doon  al  his  plesaunce, 
Whiche  were  his  sustres  and  his  paramours, 
And  wonder  lyk  to  him,  as  of  colours. 
Of  whiche  the  faireste  hewed  on  hir  throte 
Was  cleped  faire  damoysele  Pertelote. 
Curteys  she  was,  discreet,  and  debonaire. 
And  compaignable,  and  bar  hir-self  so  faire, 

•  Injured.  +  Broiled.  t  Egg. 

■{  Sort  of  Dairy-woman,        U  Surer.        1  Resting-place, 


Humorous  Verse. 

Sin  thilke  day  that  she  was  seven  night  old, 
That  trewely  she  hath  the  herte  in  hold 
Of  Chauntecleer  loken*  in  every  lith  ;t 
He  loved  hir  so,  that  wel  was  him  therwith. 
But  such  a  joye  was  it  to  here  hem  singe, 
Whan  that  the  brighte  sonne  gan  to  springe, 
In  swete  accord,  "  my  lieff  is  faren  in  londe." 
For  thilke  tyme,  as  I  have  understonde, 
Bestes  and  briddes  coude  speke  and  singe. 
***** 

This  Chauntecleer  stood  hye  up-on  his  toos, 

Strecching  his  nekke,  and  heeld  his  eyen  cloos, 

And  gan  to  crowe  loude  for  the  nones ; 

And  daun§  Russel  the  fox  sterte  up  at  ones, 

And  by  the  gargat||  hente  Chauntecleer, 

And  on  his  bak  toward  the  wode  him  beer, 

For  yet  ne  was  ther  no  man  that  him  sewed. IT 

O  destinee,  that  mayst  nat  been  eschewed ! 

Alias,  that  Chauntecleer  fleigh  fro  the  hemes ! 

Alias,  his  wyf  ne  roghte  nat  of  dremes  ! 

And  on  a  Friday  fil  al  this  meschaunce. 

O  Venus,  that  art  goddesse  of  plesaunce, 

Sin  that  thy  servant  was  this  Chauntecleer, 

And  in  thy  service  dide  al  his  poweer. 

More  for  delyt,  than  world  to  multiplye. 

Why  woldestow  suffre  him  on  thy  day  to  dye  ? 
***** 

But  Sovereynly  dame  Pertelote  shrighte, 
Ful  louder  than  dide  Hasdrubales  wyf. 
Whan  that  hir  housbond  hadde  lost  his  lyf, 
And  that  the  Romayns  hadde  brend  Cartage ; 
She  was  so  ful  of  torment  and  of  rage, 
That  wilfully  into  the  fyr  she  sterte, 
And  brende  hir-selven  with  a  stedfast  herte. 
O  woful  hennes,  right  so  cr>'den  ye, 

*  Locked  up.  i  Limb.  t  Dear. 

?  Dan  =  Sir.  ||  Throat.  IT  Pursued. 


4  Humorous  Verse* 

As,  whan  that  Nero  brende  the  citee 

Of  Rome,  cryden  senatoures  wyves, 

For  that  hir  housbondes  losten  alle  hir  lyves  ; 

Withouten  gilt  this  Nero  hath  hem  slayn. 

Now  wol  I  tome  to  my  tale  agayn  : — 

This  sely  widwe,*  and  eek  hir  doghtres  two, 

Herden  thise  hennes  crye  and  maken  wo, 

And  out  at  dores  sterten  they  anoon, 

And  syen  the  fox  toward  the  grove  goon. 

And  bar  upon  his  bak  the  cok  away  ; 

And  cryden,  "Out !  harrow  It  and  weylaway  I 

Ha,  ha,  the  fox  I  "  and  after  him  they  ran, 

And  eek  with  sta\es  many  another  man  ; 

Ran  CoUe  our  dogge,  and  Talbot,  and  Gerland, 

And  Malkin,  with  a  distaf  in  hir  hand  ; 

Ran  cow  and  calf,  and  eek  the  verray  hogges 

So  were  they  fered  for  berking  of  the  dogges 

And  shouting  of  the  men  and  wimmen  eke, 

They  ronne  so,  hem  thoughte  hir  herte  breke. 

They  yelleden  as  feendes  doon  in  helle  ; 

The  dokes  cryden  as  men  wolde  hem  quelle ; 

The  gees  for  fere  flowen  over  the  trees  ; 

Out  of  the  hyve  cam  the  swarm  of  bees  ; 

So  hidous  was  the  noyse,  a  I  bcnedicife  ! 

Certes,  he  Jakke  Straw,  and  his  meynee,t 

Ne  made  never  shoutes  half  so  shrille. 

Whan  that  they  wolden  any  Fleming  kille. 

As  thilke  day  was  maad  upon  the  fox. 

Of  bras  thay  broghten  hemes,  and  of  box, 

Of  horn,    of  boon,    in    whiche    they    blewe    and 

pouped. 
And  therwithal  they  shryked  and  they  houped ; 
It  semed  as  that  heven  sholde  falle. 
Now,  gode  men,  I  pray  yow  herkneth  alle  ! 

Lo,  how  fortune  turneth  sodeinly 
The  hope  and  pryde  eek  of  hir  enemy  I 

*  Simple.  \  Haro.  X  Companj-. 


Humorous  Verse* 

This  cok,  that  lay  upon  the  foxes  bak, 
In  al  his  drede,  un-to  the  fox  he  spak, 
And  seyde,  "sire,  if  that  I  were  as  ye, 
Yet  sholde  I  seyn  (as  wis  gode  helpe  me), 
Turneth  agayn,  ye  proude  cherles  alle  ! 
A  verray  pestilence  up- on  yow  falle  ! 
Now  am  I  come  un-to  this  wode  syde, 
Maugree  your  heed,  the  cok  shal  heer  abyde  ; 
I  wol  him  ete  in  feith,  and  that  anon." — 
The  fox  answerde,  "  in  feith  it  shal  be  don," — 
And  as  he  spak  that  word,  al  sodienly 
This  cok  brak  from  his  mouth  deliverly, 
And  heighe  up-on  a  tree  he  fleigh  anon. 


Humorous  Vetsc 

JOLLY   GOOD   ALE   AND    OLD. 
By  John  Still. 

I  CANNOT  eat  but  little  meat  ; 

My  stomach  is  not  good  ; 
But  sure  I  think  that  I  can  drink 

With  him  that  wears  a  hood. 
Though  I  go  bare,  take  ye  no  care, 

I  nothing  am  a-cold  ; 
I  stuff  my  skin  so  full  within 

Of  jolly  good  ale  and  old. 

Back  and  side  go  bare,  go  bare  ; 

Both  foot  and  hand  go  cold ; 
But,  belly,  God  send  thee  good  ale  enough, 
'  Whether  it  be  new  or  old. 

I  love  no  roast  but  a  nut-brown  toast. 

And  a  crab  laid  in  the  fire ; 
And  little  bread  shall  do  me  stead  ; 

Much  bread  I  nought  desire. 
No  frost,  no  snow,  no  wind,  I  trow, 

Can  hurt  me  if  I  wold, 
I  am  so  wrapp'd,  and  thoroughly  lapp'd, 

Of  jolly  good  ale  and  old. 

Back  and  side,  etc. 

And  Tib,  my  wife,  that  as  her  life 

Loveth  well  good  ale  to  seek, 
Full  oft  drinks  she,  till  ye  may  see 

The  tears  run  down  her  cheek  : 
Then  doth  she  troul  to  me  the  bowl. 

Even  as  a  maltworm  should. 
And  saith,  "  Sweetheart,  I  took  my  part 

Of  this  jolly  good  ale  and  old." 

Back  and  side,  etc. 


Humofous  Verse 

Now  let  them  drink  till  they  nod  and  wink, 

Even  as  good  fellows  should  do  ; 
They  shall  not  miss  to  have  the  bliss 

Good  ale  doth  bring  men  to. 
And  all  poor  souls  that  have  scour'd  bowls, 

Or  have  them  lustily  troul'd, 
God  save  the  lives  of  them  and  their  wives, 

Whether  they  be  young  or  old. 

Back  and  side,  etc. 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  A  RUSTIC  AGAINST 
THE  CLERGY. 

By  John  Skelton. 

What  can  it  avail 
To  drive  forth  a  snail  ? 
Or  to  make  a  sail 
Of  a  herring's  tail  ? 
To  rhyme  or  to  rail, 
To  write  or  to  indite. 
Either  for  delight. 
Or  else  for  despite. 
Or  books  to  compile 
Of  divers  manners  style 
Vice  to  revile 
And  sin  to  exile  ? 
To  teach  and  to  preach 
As  reason  will  reach  1 

Say  this  and  say  that : — 
"  His  head  is  so  fat. 
He  wotteth  never  what, 
Nor  whereof  he  speaketh  : 
He  cried  and  he  creaketh, 
He  pryeth  and  he  peeketh, 


Humofous  Vefse 

He  chides  and  he  chatters, 
He  prates  and  he  patters, 
He  clitters  and  he  clatters, 
He  meddles  and  he  smatters, 
He  gloses  and  he  flatters." 
Or  if  he  speak  plain. 
Then, — "  He  lacketh  brain, 
He  is  but  a  fool, 
Let  him  go  to  school 
On  a  three-foot  stool 
That  he  may  down  sit. 
For  he  lacketh  wit." 

•  • 

And,  if  ye  stand  in  doubt, 
Who  brought  this  rhyme  about. 
My  name  is  Colin  Clout : 
I  purpose  to  shake  out 
All  my  cunning-bag 
Like  a  clerkly  hag. 
For  though  my  rhyme  be  ragged. 
Tattered  and  jagged. 
Rudely  rain-beaten, 
Rusty  and  moth-eaten, 
If  ye  take  well  therewith, 
It  hath  in  it  some  pith. 

For,  as  far  as  I  can  see. 
It  is  wrong  with  each  degree  : 
For  the  Temporality 
Accuseth  the  Spirituality  ; 
The  Spiritual  again 
Doth  grudge  and  complain 
Upon  temporal  men. 
Thus  each  the  other  blother 
The  t'one  against  the  t'other ; 
Alas,  they  make  me  shudder  ! 
For  in  hudder-mudder 
The  Church  is  put  in  faut ; 


Humorous  Verse 

The  prelates  been  so  haut, 
They  say,  and  look  so  high 
As  though  they  would  fly 
Above  the  starry  sky. 

And  while  the  heads  do  this, 
The  remenant  is  amiss 
Of  the  clergy  all 
Both  great  or  small. 
I  wot  never  how  they  wark, 
But  thus  the  people  bark, 
And  surely  thus  they  say  : — 
Bishops  if  they  may 
Small  houses  would  keep. 
But  slumber  forth  and  sleep 
And  assay  to  creep 
Within  the  noble  walls 
Of  the  kinges  halls, 
To  fat  their  bodies  full, 
Their  soules  lean  and  dull, 
And  have  full  little  care 
How  evil  their  sheep  fare. 

Yet  take  they  cure  of  souls 
And  wottoth  never  what  they  read. 
Paternoster,  Ave  nor  Creed, 
Construe  not  worth  a  whistle 
Neither  Gospel  nor  'Pistle, 
Their  matins  madly  said. 
Nothing  devoutly  prayed ; 
Their  learning  is  so  small. 
Their  primes  and  houres  fall 
And  leap  out  of  their  lips 
Like  saw-dust  or  dry  chips. 
I  speak  not  now  of  all. 
But  the  most  part  in  general. 


lo  Humofotts  Vetsc 

A  priest  without  a  letter, 
Without  his  virtue  be  greater, 
Doubtless  were  much  better 
Upon  him  for  to  take 
A  mattock  or  a  rake. 
Alas,  for  very  shame  I 
Some  cannot  decline  their  name  ; 
Some  cannot  scarcely  read, 
And  yet  he  will  not  dread 
For  to  keep  a  cure. 

Thus  I,  Colin  Clout, 
As  I  go  about. 
And  wandering  as  I  walk, 
I  hear  the  people  talk. 


SIR  PENNY. 

(Anon.) 

In  earth  it  is  a  little  thing, 
And  reigns  as  a  riche  king. 

Where  he  is  lent  in  land  : 
Sir  Penny  is  his  name  call'd  : 
He  makes  both  young  and  old 

Bow  unto  his  hand. 

Popes,  kings,  and  emperors, 
Bishops,  abbots,  and  priors, 

Parson,  priest,  and  knight, 
Dukes,  earls,  and  each  baroiin, 
To  serve  him  they  are  full  boon 

Both  by  day  and  night. 

He  may  buy  both  heaven  and  hell, 
And  each  thing  that  is  to  sell, 

In  earth  has  he  such  grace  : 
He  may  loose  and  he  may  bind. 


Humorous  Verse 

The  poor  are  aye  put  behind 
Where  he  comes  in  place. 

Where  strife  was  Penny  makes  peace, 
Of  all  anger  he  may  release, 

In  land  where  he  will  lend  ; 
Of  foes  may  he  make  friendes  sad, 
Of  counsel  there  them  never  be  rad* 

That  may  have  him  to  friend. 

Penny  is  a  good  fellaw 

Men  welcome  him  in  de6d  and  saw,t 

Come  he  never  so  oft ; 
He  is  not  welcom'd  as  a  guest, 
But  evermore  served  with  the  best, 

And  made  to  sit  full  soft. 

Sir  Penny  may  full  mickle  avail, 
To  them  that  has  need  of  counsail, 

As  seen  is  in  assize  .• 
He  lengthens  life,  and  saves  trom  dead.- 
But  love  it  not  overwell,  I  rede 

For  sin  of  covetise  ! 

If  thou  have  hap  treasure  to  win, 
Delight  thee  not  too  mickle  therein, 

Nor  careless  thereof  be  : 
But  spend  it  as  well  as  thou  can, 
So  that  thou  love  both  God  and  man 

In  perfect  charity. 

God  grant  us  grace  with  heart  and  will. 
The  goods  that  he  has  given  us  till 

Well  and  wisely  to  spend; 
And  so  our  lives  here  for  to  lead. 
That  we  may  have  his  bliss  to  meed, 

Ever  without  end. 

*  Void.  t  Words. 


12  Humorous  Verse 

I  HAD  BOTH  MONEY  AND  A  FRIEND. 

(Anon.) 

I  HAD  both  money  and  a  friend, 

Of  neither  though  no  store  ; 
I  lent  my  money  to  my  friend, 

And  took  his  bond  therefor. 

I  asked  my  money  of  my  friend, 
But  nought  save  words  I  got ; 

I  lost  my  money  to  keep  my  friend, 
For  sue  him  would  I  not. 

But  then  if  money  come, 

And  friend  again  were  found, 

I  would  lend  no  money  to  my  friend. 
Upon  no  kind  of  bond. 

But,  after  this,  for  money  cometh 

A  friend  with  pawn  to  pay. 
But  when  the  money  should  be  had, 

My  friend  used  such  delay, 

That  need  of  money  did  me  force. 

My  friend  his  pawn  to  sell, 
And  so  I  got  my  money,  but 

My  friend  then  from  me  fell. 

Since  bond  for  money  lent  my  friend. 

Nor  pawn  assurance  is. 
But  that  my  money  or  my  friend. 

Thereby  I  ever  miss  ; 

If  God  send  money  and  a  friend. 

As  I  have  had  before, 
I  will  keep  my  money  and  save  my  friend, 

.And  play  the  fool  no  more. 


Humorous  Verse  13 

THE    LONDON    LACKPENNY. 

By  John  Lydgate. 

To  London  once  my  steps  I  bent, 
Where  truth  in  no  wise  should  be  faint ; 
To  Westminster-ward  I  forthwith  went, 
To  a  man  of  Law  to  make  complaint. 
I  said,  "  For  Mary's  love,  that  holy  saint, 
Pity  the  poor  that  would  proceed  I  " 
But  for  lack  of  money,  I  could  not  speed. 

And,  as  I  thrust  the  press  among. 

By  froward  chance  my  hood  was  gone ; 

Yet  for  all  that  I  stayed  not  long 

Till  to  the  King's  Bench  I  was  come. 

Before  the  Judge  I  kneeled  anon 

And  prayed  him  for  God's  sake  take  heed. 

But  for  lack  of  money,  I  might  not  speed. 

Beneath  them  sat  clerks  a  great  rout. 

Which  fast  did  write  by  one  assent ; 

There  stood  up  one  and  cried  about 

"  Richard,  Robert,  and  John  of  Kent  I" 

I  wist  not  well  what  this  man  meant, 

He  cried  so  thickly  there  indeed. 

But  he  that  lacked  money  might  not  speed. 

To  the  Common  Pleas  I  yode  tho,* 

There  sat  one  with  a  silken  hood  : 

I  'gan  him  reverence  for  to  do. 

And  told  my  case  as  well  as  I  could  ; 

How  my  goods  were  defrauded  me  by  falsehood  ; 

1  got  not  a  mum  of  his  mouth  for  my  m.eed, 

And  for  lack  of  money  I  might  not  speed. 

Unto  the  Rolls  I  gat  me  from  thence, 
Before  the  clerks  of  the  Chancery  ; 

•   Went  then. 


14  Homofows  Verse 

Where  many  I  found  earning  of  pence  ; 
But  none  at  all  once  regarded  me. 
I  gave  them  my  plaint  upon  my  knee  ; 
They  liked  it  well  when  they  had  it  read  ; 
But,  lacking  money,  I  could  not  be  sped. 

In  Westminster  Hall  I  found  out  one. 

Which  went  in  a  long  gown  of  ray  ;* 

I  crouched  and  knelt  before  him  ;  anon. 

For  Mary's  love,  for  help  I  him  pray. 

"  I  wot  not  what  thou  mean'st,"  'gan  he  say ; 

To  get  me  thence  he  did  me  bid, 

For  lack  of  money  I  could  not  speed. 

Within  this  Hall,  neither  rich  nor  yet  poor 

Would  do  for  me  aught  although  I  should  die  ; 

Which  seing,  I  gat  me  out  of  the  door; 

Where  Flemings  began  on  me  for  to  ciy, — 

"  Master,  what  will  you  copen  or  buy  ? 

Fine  felt  hats,  or  spectacles  to  read  ? 

Lay  down  your  silver,  and  here  you  may  speed." 

To  Westminster  Gate  I  presently  went. 

When  the  sun  was  at  high  prime  ; 

Cooks  to  me  they  took  good  intent. 

And  proffered  me  bread,  with  ale  and  wine. 

Ribs  of  beef,  both  fat  and  full  fine  ; 

A  faire  cloth  they  'gan  for  to  spread. 

But,  wanting  money,  I  might  not  then  speed. 

Then  unto  London  I  did  me  hie. 

Of  all  the  land  it  beareth  the  prize ; 

"  Hot  peascodes  !  "  one  began  to  cry  ; 

"  Strawberries  ripe  ! "  and  "  Cherries  in  the  rise  1  "f 

One  bade  me  come  near  arid  buy  some  spice  ; 

Pepper  and  saffron  they  'gan  me  bede  ;J 

But,  for  lack  of  money,  I  might  not  speed. 

•  Striped  cloth.  +  Bough.  t  Offer. 


Humorous  Verse  15 

Then  to  the  Cheap  I  'gan  me  drawn, 
Where  much  people  I  saw  for  to  stand  ; 
One  offered  me  velvet,  silk,  and  lawn  ; 
Another  he  taketh  me  by  the  hand, 
"  Here  is  Paris  thread,  the  finest  in  the  land  "  ; 
I  never  was  used  to  such  things  indeed  ; 
And,  wanting  money,  I  might  not  speed. 

Then  went  I  forth  by  London  stone. 

Throughout  all  the  Canwick  street ; 

Drapers  much  cloth  me  offered  anon  ; 

Then  comes  me  one  cried,  "  Hot  sheep's  feet !" 

One  cried  "  Mackarel  !"  "  Rushes  green  I"  another 

'gan  greet ; 
One  bade  me  buy  a  hood  to  cover  my  head ; 
But,  for  want  of  money,  I  might  not  be  sped. 

Then  I  hied  me  into  East  Cheap  : 

One  cries  "  Ribs  of  beef  and  many  a  pie  !  " 

Pewter  pots  they  clattered  on  a  heap ; 

There  was  harp^,  pipe,  and  minstrelsy  : 

"  Yea,  by  cock  ! "  "  Nay,  by  cock  ! "  some  began 

cry  ; 
Some  sung  of  "Jenkin  and  Julian"  for  their  meed; 
But,  for  lack  of  money,  1  might  not  speed. 

Then  into  Comhill  anon  I  yode 

Where  there  was  much  stolen  gear  among  ; 

I  saw  where  hung  my  owne  hood. 

That  I  had  lost  among  the  throng  : 

To  buy  my  own  hood  I  thought  it  wrong ; 

I  knew  it  as  well  as  I  knew  my  creed  ; 

But,  for  lack  of  money,  I  could  not  speed. 

The  Taverner  took  me  by  the  sleeve  ; 
"  Sir,"  saith  he,  "  will  you  our  wine  assay  ?  " 
I  answered,  "  That  cannot  much  me  grieve  j 
A  penny  can  do  no  more  than  it  may." 


1 6  Htjmofoos  Verse 

I  drank  a  pint,  and  for  it  did  pay  ; 

Yet,  sore  a-hungered  from  thence  I  yede  ; 

And,  wanting  money,  I  could  not  speed. 

Then  hied  I  me  to  Billings-gate, 
And  one  cried,  "  Ho  !  go  we  hence  !" 
I  prayed  a  bargeman,  for, God's  sake, 
That  he  would  spare  me  my  expense. 
"Thou  'scap'st  not  here,"  quoth  he,  "under  two- 
pence ; 
I  list  not  yet  bestow  any  almsdeed." 
Thus,  lacking  money,  I  could  not  speed. 

Then  I  conveyed  me  into  Kent  ; 

For  of  the  law  would  I  meddle  no  more. 

Because  no  man  to  me  took  intent, 

I  dight  me  to  do  as  I  did  before. 

Now  Jesus  that  in  Bethlehem  was  bore. 

Save  London  and  send  true  lawyers  their  meed  I 

For  whoso  wants  money  with  them  shall  not  speed. 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  GOLIAS. 
Translated  by  J.  A.  Symonds. 

Boiling  in  my  spirit's  veins 

With  fierce  indignation. 
From  my  bitterness  of  sou) 

Springs  self-revelation  : 
Framed  am  I  of  flimsy  stuff, 

Fit  for  levitation. 
Like  a  thin  leaf  which  the  wind 

Scatters  from  its  station. 

While  it  is  the  wise  man's  part 

With  deliberation 
On  a  rock  to  base  his  heart's 

Permanent  foundation, 


Humorous  Verse  17 

With  a  running  river  I 

Find  my  just  equation, 
Which  beneath  the  self-same  sky 

Hath  no  habitation. 

Carried  am  I  hke  a  ship 

Left  without  a  sailor, 
Like  a  bird  that  through  the  air 

Flies  where  tempests  hale  her  ; 
Chains  and  fetters  hold  me  not, 

Naught  avails  a  jailor  ; 
Still  I  find  my  fellows  out, 

Toper,  gamester,  railer. 

To  my  mind  all  gravity 

Is  a  grave  subjection  ; 
Sweeter  far. than  honey  are 

Jokes  and  free  affection. 
All  that  Venus  bids  me  do. 

Do  I  with  erection, 
For  she  ne'er  in  heart  of  man 

Dwelt  with  dull  dejection. 

Down  the  broad  road  do  I  run, 

As  the  way  of  youth  is  ; 
Snare  myself  in  sin,  and  ne'er 

Think  where  faith  and  truth  is ; 
Eager  far  for  pleasure  more 

Than  soul's  health,  the  sooth  is, 
For  this  flesh  of  mine  I  care. 

Seek  not  ruth  where  ruth  is. 

Prelate,  most  discreet  of  priests, 

Grant  me  absolution  ! 
Dear's  the  death  whereof  I  die. 

Sweet  my  dissolution  ; 

C 


t8  Humorows  Verse 

For  my  heart  is  wounded  by 

Beauty's  soft  suffusion  ; 
All  the  girls  I  come  not  nigh, 

Mine  are  in  illusion. 

Tis  most  arduous  to  make 

Nature's  self  surrender  ; 
Seeing  girls,  to  blush  and  be 

Purity's  defender  ! 
We  young  men  our  lodgings  ne'er 

Shall  to  stern  law  render, 
Or  preserve  our  fancies  from 

Bodies  smooth  and  tender. 

Who,  when  into  fire  he  falls, 

Keeps  himself  from  burning  ? 
Who  within  Pavia's  walls 

Fame  of  chaste  is  earning  ? 
Venus  with  her  finger  calls 

Youths  at  every  turning. 
Snares  them  with  her  eyes,  and  thralls 

With  her  amorous  yearning. 

If  you  brought  Hippolitus 

To  Pavia  Sunday, 
He'd  not  be  Hippolitus 

On  the  following  Monday  ; 
Venus  there  keeps  holiday 

Every  day  as  one  day  ; 
'Mid  these  towers  in  no  tower  dwells 

Venus  Verecunda. 

In  the  second  place  I  own 

To  the  vice  of  gaming  : 
Gold  indeed  outside  I  seem. 

Yet  my  soul  is  flaming  : 
But  when  once  the  dice-box  hath 

Stripped  me  to  my  shaming. 
Make  I  songs  and  verses  fit 

For  the  world's  acclaiming. 


Humorous  Verse  19 

In  the  third  place,  I  will  speak 

Of  the  tavern's  pleasure  ; 
For  I  never  found  nor  find 

There  the  least  displeasure  ; 
Nor  shall  find  it  till  I  greet 

Angels  without  measure, 
Singing  requiems  for  the  souls 

In  eternal  leisure. 

In  the  public-house  to  die 

Is  my  resolution; 
Let  wine  to  my  lips  be  nigh 

At  life's  dissolution  ; 
That  will  make  the  angels  cry, 

With  glad  elocution, 
"  Grant  this  toper,  God  on  high, 

Grace  and  absolution  ! " 

With  the  cup  the  soul  lights  up, 

Inspirations  flicker  ; 
Nectar  lifts  the  soul  on  high 

With  its  heavenly  ichor  : 
To  my  lips  a  sounder  taste 

Hath  the  tavern's  liquor 
Than  the  wine  a  village  clerk 

Waters  for  the  vicar. 

Nature  gives  to  every  man 

Some  gift  serviceable  ; 
Write  I  never  could  nor  can 

Hungry  at  the  table  ; 

Fasting,  any  stripling  to 

Vanquish  me  is  able  ; 

Hunger,  thirst,  I  liken  to 

Death  that  ends  the  fable. 

Nature  gives  to  every  man 

Gifts  as  she  is  willing; 
I  compose  my  verses  when 

Good  wine  I  am  swilling. 


Humorous  Verse 

Wine  the  best  for  jolly  guest 

Jolly  hosts  are  filling  ; 
From  such  wine  rare  fancies  fine 

Flow  like  dews  distilling. 

Such  my  verse  is  wont  to  be 

As  the  wine  I  swallow  ; 
No  ripe  thoughts  enliven  me 

While  my  stomach's  hollow  ; 
Hungry  wits  on  hungry  lips 

Like  a  shadow  follow, 
But  when  once  I'm  in  my  cups, 

1  can  iDcat  Apollo. 

Never  to  my  spirit  yet 

Flew  poetic  vision 
Until  first  my  belly  had 

Plentiful  provision  ; 
Let  but  Bacchus  in  the  brain 

Take  a  strong  position. 
Then  comes  Phoebus  flowing  in 

With  a  fine  precision. 

There  are  poets,  worthy  men, 

Shrink  from  public  places, 
And  in  lurking- hole  or  den 

Hide  their  pallid  faces  ; 
There  the\'  study,  sweat,  and  woo 

Pallas  and  the  Graces, 
But  bring  nothing  forth  to  view 

Worth  the  girls'  embraces. 

Fasting,  thirsting,  toil  the  bards, 

Swift  years  flying  o'er  them  ; 
Shun  the  strife  of  open  life. 

Tumults  of  the  forum  ; 
They,  to  sing  some  deathless  thing. 

Lest  the  world  ignore  them, 
Die  the  death,  expend  their  breath, 

Drowned  in  full  decorum. 


Humorous  Verse  21 

Lo  !  my  frailties  I've  betrayed, 

Shown  you  every  token, 
Told  you  what  your  sei-vitors 

Have  against  me  spoken  ; 
But  of  these  men  each  and  all 

Leave  their  sins  unspoken. 
Though  they  play,  enjoy  to-day, 

Scorn  their  pledges  broken. 
Now  within  the  audience- room 

Of  this  blessed  prelate, 
Sent  to  hunt  out  .vice,  and  from 

Hearts  of  men  expel  it ; 
Let  him  rise,  nor  spare  the  bard. 

Cast  at  him  a  pellet  : 
He  whose  heart  knows  not  crime's  smart, 

Show  my  sin  and  tell  it  ! 

I  have  uttered  openly 

All  I  knew  that  shamed  me, 
And  have  spued  the  poison  forth 

That  so  long  defamed  me  ; 
Of  my  old  ways  I  repent, 

New  life  hath  reclaimed  me  ; 
God  beholds  the  heart  — 'twas  man 

Viewed  the  face  and  blamed  me. 
Goodness  now  hath  won  my  lo\e, 

I  am  wroth  with  vices  ; 
Made  a  new  man  in  my  mind, 

Lo,  my  soul  arises  ! 
Like  a  babe  new  milk  I  drink 

Milk  for  me  suffices. 
Lest  my  heart  should  longer  be 

Filled  with  vain  devices. 
Thou  Elect  of  fair  Cologne, 

Listen  to  my  pleading  ! 
Spurn  not  thou  the  penitent  ; 

See,  his  heart  is  bleeding  I 


2  2  Humorous  Verse 

Give  me  penance!  what  is  due 
For  my  faults  exceeding 

I  will  bear  with  willing  cheer, 
All  thy  precepts  heeding. 

Lo,  the  lion,  king  of  beasts. 

Spares  the  meek  and  lowly  ; 
Towards  submissive  creatures  he 

Tames  his  anger  wholly. 
Do  the  like,  ye  powers  of  earth. 

Temporal  and  holy  ! 
Bitterness  is  more  than's  right 

When  'tis  bitter  solely. 


OUT    OF    SIGHT,    OUT   OF    MIND. 

By  Barnaby  Googe. 

The  oft'ner  seen,  the  more  I  lust. 
The  more  I  lust,  the  more  I  smart. 
The  more  I  smart,  the  more  I  trust. 
The  more  I  trust,  the  heavier  heart. 
The  heavy  heart  breeds  mine  unrest, 
Thy  absence  therefore  I  like  best. 

The  rarer  seen,  the  less  in  mind. 
The  less  in  mind,  the  lesser  pain. 
The  lesser  pain,  less  grief  I  find, 
The  lesser  grief,  the  greater  gain, 
The  greater  gain,  the  merrier  I, 
Therefore  I  wish  thy  sight  to  fly. 

The  further  off,  the  more  I  joy, 
The  more  I  joy,  the  happier  life. 
The  happier  life,  less  hurts  annoy. 
The  lesser  hurts,  pleasure  most  rife, 
Such  pleasures  rife  shall  I  obtain 
When  distance  doth  depart  us  twain. 


Humorous  Verse  23 

KING  EDWARD   IV.  AND  THE  TANNER 
OF  TAMWORTH. 

(Anon.) 

In  summer  time,  when  leaves  grow  greene, 

And  blossoms  bedecke  the  tree, 
King  Edward  wolde  a  hunting  ryde, 

Some  pastime  for  to  see. 

With  hawke  and  hounde  he  made  him  bowne. 

With  home,  and  eke  with  bowe  ; 
To  Drayton  Basset  he  tooke  his  waye, 
With  all  his  lordes  a  rowe. 

-And  he  had  ridden  ore  dale  and  downe 

By  eight  of  clocke  in  the  day, 
When  he  was  ware  of  a  bold  tannfer, 

Come  riding  along  the  waye. 

A  fayre  russet  coat  the  tanner  had  on 

Fast  buttoned  under  his  chin. 
And  under  him  a  good  cow  hide, 

And  a  mare  of  four  shilling. 

"  Nowe  stand  you  still,  my  good  lordes  all, 

Under  the  grene  wood  spraye  ; 
And  I  will  wend  to  yonder  fellowe, 

To  weet  what  he  will  saye. 

"  God  speede,  God  speede  thee,"  said  our  king. 

"  Thou  art  welcome,  Sir,"  sayd  hee. 
"  The  readyest  waye  to  Drayton  Basset 

I  praye  thee  to  shew  to  mee." 

"  To  Drayton  Basset  woldst  thou  goe, 
Fro  the  place  where  thou  dost  stand  ? 

The  next  payre  of  gallowes  thou  comest  unto, 
Turne  in  upon  thy  right  hand." 


24  Humorous  Verse 

"This  is  an  unreadye  waye,"  sayd  our  king, 

"Thou  doest  but  jest,  I  see  ; 
Nowe  shewe  me  out  the  nearest  waye. 

And  1  pray  thee  wend  with  mee." 

"Awaye  Avith  a  vengeance  !  "  quoth  the  tanner  : 

"  I  hold  thee  out  of  thy  witt  : 
All  daye  have  I  rydden  on  Brocke  my  mare, 

And  I  am  fasting  yett." 

"Go  with  me  downe  to  Drayton  Basset, 

No  daynties  we  will  spare  ; 
All  daye  shalt  thou  eate  and  drinke  of  the  best, 

And  I  will  paye  thy  fare." 

"  Gramercye  for  nothing,"  the  tanner  replyde, 

"Thou  payest  no  fare  of  mine  : 
I  trowe  I've  more  nobles  in  my  purse, 

Than  thou  hast  pence  in  thine." 

"  God  give  thee  joy  of  them,"  sayd  the  king, 

"And  send  them  well  to  priefe." 
The  tanner  wolde  faine  have  beene  away. 

For  he  weende  he  had  beene  a  thiefe. 

"What  art  thou,"  hee  sayd,  "thou  fine  fellowe. 

Of  thee  I  am  in  great  feare. 
For  the  clothes  thou  wearest  upon  thy  back, 

Might  beseeme  a  lord  to  weare." 

"  I  never  stole  them,"  quoth  our  king, 

"  I  tell  you,  Sir,  by  the  roode." 
"Then  thou  playest,  as  many  an  unthrift  doth, 

And  standest  in  midds  of  thy  goode." 

"What  tydinges  heare  you,"  sayd  the  kynge, 
"  As  you  ryde  farre  and  neare  ?  " 

"  I  heare  no  tydinges.  Sir,  by  the  masse. 
But  that  cow-hides  are  deare." 


Hwmofous  Verse  25 

"  Cow-hides  !  cow-hides  I  what  thintjs  are  those  ? 

I  manell  what  they  bee  ?  " 
'  What,  art  thou  a  foole  ?  "  the  tanner  reply'd ; 

"  I  carry  one  under  mee." 

"  What  craftsman  are  thou,"  said  the  king-, 

"  I  praye  thee  tell  me  trowe." 
"  I  am  a  barker,  Sir,  by  my  trade  ; 

Nowe  tell  me  what  art  thou  ?" 

"  I  am  a  poore  courtier.  Sir,"  quoth  he, 
''  That  am  forth  of  ser\  ice  worne  ; 

And  faine  1  wolde  thy  prentise  bee, 
Thy  cunninge  for  to  learne." 

"  Marrye  heaven  forfend,"  the  tanner  replyde, 

"That  thou  my  prentise  were  : 
Thou  woldst  spend  more  good  than  I  shold  winne 

By  fortye  shilling  a  yere." 

"  Yet  one  thinge  wolde  I,"  sayd  our  king, 

"  If  thou  wilt  not  seeme  strange  : 
Thoughe  my  horse  be  better  than  thy  mare. 

Yet  with  thee  I  faine  wold  chang^e." 

"  Why  if  with  me  thou  faine  wilt  change, 

As  change  full  well  maye  wee, 
By  the  faith  of  my  bodye,  thou  proude  fellowe, 

I  will  have  some  boot  of  thee." 

"  That  were  against  reason,"  sayd  the  king, 

"  I  sweare,  so  mote  I  thee  : 
My  horse  is  better  than  thy  mare, 

And  that  thou  well  mayst  see." 

"  Yea,  Sir,  but  Brocke  is  gentle  and  mild. 

And  softly  she  will  fare  : 
Thy  horse  is  unrulye  and  wild,  I  wiss  ; 

Aye  skipping  here  and  theare." 


26  Humorous  Verse 

"Whafcboote  wilt  thou  have?"  our  king  reply'd 

"  Now  tell  me  in  this  stound." 
"  Noe  pence,  nor  half  pence,  by  my  faye, 

But  a  noble  in  gold  so  round." 

"  Here's  twentye  groates  of  white  mon«y, 

Sith  thou  will  have  it  of  mee." 
"  I  would  have  sworne  now,"  quoth  the  tanner, 

"  Thou  hadst  not  had  one  pennie. 

"  But  since  we  two  have  made  a  change, 

A  change  we  must  abide. 
Although  thou  hast  gotten  Brocke  my  mare, 

Thou  gettest  not  my  cowe-hide." 

"  I  will  not  have  it,"  sayd  the  kynge, 

"  I  sweare,  so  mought  I  thee  ; 
Thy  foul  cowe-hide  I  wolde  not  beare, 

If  thou  woldst  give  it  to  mee." 

The  tanner  hee  tooke  his  good  cowe-hide. 

That  of  the  cow  was  hilt ; 
And  threwe  it  upon  the  king's  sadfelle. 

That  was  soe  fayrelye  gilte. 

"  Now  help  me  up,  thou  fine  fellowe, 

'Tis  time  that  I  were  gone  : 
When  I  come  home  to  Gyllian  my  wife, 

Sheel  say  I  am  a  gentilmon." 

When  the  tanner  he  was  in  the  kynges  sad^lle, 

And  his  foote  in  the  stirrup  was  ; 
He  marvelled  greatlye  in  his  minde, 

Whether  it  were  golde  or  brass. 

But  when  his  steede  saw  the  cows  taile  wagge, 

And  eke  the  blacke  cowe-horne  ; 
He  stamped,  and  stared,  and  awaye  he  ranne, 

As  the  devill  had  him  boi-ne 


Humorous  Verse  27 

The  tanner  he  pulld,  the  tanner  he  sweat, 

And  held  by  the  pummil  fast : 
At  length  the  tanner  came  tumbling  downe  ; 

His  necke  he  had  well-nye  brast. 

"Take  thy  horse  again'with  a  vengeance,"  he  sayd, 

"With  mee  he  shall  not  byde." 
"  My  horse  wolde  have  borne  thee  well  enoughe, 

But  he  knewe  not  of  thy  cowe-hide. 

"  Yet  if  againe  thou  faine  woldst  change, 

As  change  full  well  may  wee, 
By  the  faith  of  my  bodye,  thou  jolly  tanner, 

I  will  have  some  boote  of  thee." 

"What  boote  wilt  thou  have?"  the  tanner  replyd, 

"  Nowe  tell  me  in  this  stounde." 
"  Noe  pence  nor  half  pence,  Sir,  by  my  faye, 

But  I  will  have  twentye  pound." 

"  Here's  twentye  groates  out  of  my  purse  ; 

And  twentye  I  have  of  thine  : 
And  I  have  one  more,  which  we  will  spend 

Together  at  the  wine." 

The  king  set  a  bugle  home  to  his  mouthe. 

And  blewe  both  loud  and  shrille  : 
And  soone  came  lords,  and  soone  came  knights. 

Fast  ryding  over  the  hille. 

"  Nowe,  out  alas  !  "  the  tanner  he  cryde, 

"  That  ever  I  sawe  this  daye  ! 
Thou  art  a  strong  thiefe,  yon  come  thy  fellowes 

Will  beare  my  cowe-hide  away." 

"  They  are  no  thieves,"  the  king  replyde, 

"  I  sweare,  soe  mote  I  thee  : 
But  they  are  the  lords  of  the  north  countr^e 

Here  come  to  hunt  with  mee." 


8  Humorous  Verse 

And  soone  before  our  king  they  came, 
And  knelt  downe  on  the  grounde  : 

Then  might  the  tanner  have  beene  awaye, 
He  had  lever  than  twentye  pounde. 

"A  coller,  a  coller,  here  :"  sayd  the  king, 

"  A  coller,"  he  loud  gan  crye  : 
Then  woulde  he  lever  than  twentye  pound, 

He  had  not  beene  so  nighe. 

"  A  coller,  a  coller,"  the  tanner  he  sayd, 

"  I  trowe  it  will  breed  sorrowe  : 
After  a  coller  cometh  a  halter, 

I  trow  I  shall  be  hang'd  to-morrowe." 

"  Be  not  afraid,  tanner,"  said  our  king 

"  I  tell  thee,  so  mought  I  thee, 
Lo  here  I  make  thee  the  best  esquire 

That  is  in  the  North  countrie.     » 

"  For  Plumpton-parke  I  will  give  thee. 

With  tenements  faire  beside  : 
'Tis  worth  three  hundred  markes  by  the  yeare. 

To  maintaine  thy  good  cowe-hide." 

"  Gramercye,  my  liege,"  the  tanner  replyde,   , 
"  For  the  favour  thou  hast  me  showne  ; 

If  ever  thou  comest  to  merry  Tamworth, 
Neates  leather  shall  clout  thy  shoen." 


THE  DEVIL'S  INQUEST. 

By  William  Dunbar. 

This  night  in  my  sleep  I  was  aghast ; 
Methought  the  Devil  was  tempting  fast 

The  people  with  oaths  of  cruelty  ; 
Saying,  as  through  the  market  he  pass'd, 

"  Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 


Humorous  Verse  29 

Methought,  as  he  went  through  the  way 
A  priest  sweir't  broad,  "  By  God,  very," 

While  at  the  altar  received  he. 
"  Thou  art  my  clerk,"  the  Devil  'gan  say, 

"  Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

Then  swore  a  courtier,  mickle  of  pride, 
"  By  Christe's  wounds,  bloody  and  wide, 

And  by  His  harms  was  rent  on  tree." 
Then  spake  the  Devil,  hard  him  beside, 

"  Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

A  merchant,  his  gear  as  he  did  sell, 
Renounced  his  part  of  heaven  for  hell. 

The  Devil  said,  "  Welcome  may  thou  be  ; 
Thou  shall  be  merchant  for  mysei' ; 

Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

A  goldsmith  said,  "  The  gold  is  so  fine. 
That  all  the  workmanship  I  tyne  ; 

The  fiend  receive  me  if  I  lie." 
"Thinly  on,"  quoth  the  Devil,  "that  thou  art  mine ; 

Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

A  tailor  said,  "  In  all  this  town 
Be  there  a  better  well-make  gown, 

I  give  me  to  the  fiend  all  free." 
"  Gramercy,  tailor,"  said  Mahoun, 

"  Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

A  soutar  said,  "In  good  effec'. 
Nor  I  be  hanged  by  the  neck, 

If  better  boots  of  leather  there  be." 
"  Fy  I"  quoth  the  fiend,  "  thou  smells  of  black ; 

Go  cleanse  thee  clean,  and  come  to  me." 

A  baker  said,  "  I  forsake  God, 
And  all  His  works,  even  and  odd, 

If  fairer  bread  there  needs  to  be." 
The  Devil  laugh'd,  and  on  him  could  nod, 

"Renounce  thy  God  and  come. to  me." 


3°  Humorous  Verse 

A  flesher  swore  by  the  sacrament, 
And  by  Christ's  blood  most  innocent, 

"  Ne'er  fatter  flesh  saw  man  with  e'e." 
The  Devil  said,  "  Hold  on  thy  intent, 

Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

The  maltman  says,  "  I  God  forsake 
And  may  the  Devil  of  hell  me  take, 

If  any  better  malt  may  be  ; 
And  of  this  kill  I  have  inlaik."* 

"  Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

A  brewster  swore  the  malt  was  ill, 
Both  red  and  reekit  on  the  kill, 

That  it  will  be  no  ale  for  me  ; 
One  boll  will  not  six  gallons  fill : 

"  Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

"  By  God's  blood,"  quoth  the  taverner, 
"  There  is  such  wine  in  cellar, 

Has  never  come  in  this  country." 
"  Tut !"  quoth  the  Devil,  "  thou  sells  o'er  dear 

Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

The  smith  swore  by  rood  and  raip, 
"  Into  a  gallows  might  I  gaip, 

If  I  ten  days  won  pennies  three, 
For  with  that  craft  I  cannot  thraip."t 

"  Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

A  minstrel  said,  "  The  fiend  me  rive. 
If  I  do  ought  but  drink  and  swyfe ;  "| 

The  Devil  said,  "  Then  I  counsel  thee, 
Exerc'se  that  craft  in  all  they  life  ; 

Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

A  dicer  said,  with  words  of  strife, 

The  Devil  might  stick  him  with  a  knife, 

•  Deficiencj',  t  Thrive.  t  Sing. 


Humofous  Vct&e  31 

But  he  cast  up  fair  sixes  three  ; 
The  Devil  said,  "  Ended  is  thy  life  : 
Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

A  thief  said,  "  God  that  ever  I  'scape, 
Nor  ane  stark  halter  gar  me  gaip, 

But  I  in  hell  for  gear  would  be." 
The  Devil  said,  "  Welcome  to  a  raip, 

Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

The  fishwives  flett,*  and  swore  with  groans, 
And  to  the  Fiend,  soul,  flesh,  and  bones, 

They  gave  them,  with  a  shout  on  high. 
The  Devil  said,  "  Welcome  all  at  once  ; 

Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 

The  rest  of  craftes  great  oaths  sware. 
Their  work  and  craft  had  no  compare. 

Each  one  unto  their  quality. 
The  Devil  said,  "Then,  withouten  mair; 

Renounce  thy  God  and  come  to  me." 


TALE    OF    THE    UPLAND    MOUSE    AND 
THE  BURGESS  MOUSE. 

By  Robert  Henryson. 

Esop,  mine  author,  makes  mention 

Of  two  mice,  and  they  were  sisters  dear, 

Of  whom  the  eldest  dwelt  in  a  borough's  town  ; 

The  other  dwelled  upon  land,  well  near, 

Right  solitary,  whiles  under  brush  and  briar, 

Whiles  in  the  corn,  and  other  men's  scaithe. 

As  outlaws  does  and  lives  on  their  waith. 

•  Scolded. 


32  Humorous  Verse 

This  rural  mouse  in  all  the  winter  tide, 
Had  hunger,  cold,  and  suffered  great  distress  ; 
The  other  mouse  that  in  the  burgh  can  bide, 
Was  gild-brother  and  made  a  free  burgess  ; 
Toll  free  also,  from  custom  more  or  less, 
And  freedom  had  to  go  where'er  she  list. 
Among  the  cheese  in  ark,  and  meal  in  chest. 

One  time  when  she  was  full  and  not  foot-sair, 
She  took  in  mind  her  sister  upon  land, 
And  longed  for  to  hear  of  her  welfare, 
To  see  what  life  she  had  under  the  wand ; 
Barefoot  alone,  with  pikestaff  in  her  hand, 
As  poor  pilgrim  she  passed  out  of  town, 
To  seek  her  sister  both  o'er  dale  and  down. 

The  hearty  joy,  Lord  God  !  if  ye  had  seen, 
Was  showen  when  that  these  two  sisters  met ; 
And  great  kindness  was  showen  them  between. 
For  whiles  they  laugh,  and  whiles  for  joy  they  gret 
Whiles  kissed  sweet,  and  whiles  in  armes  plet ;  * 
And  thus  they  fare  till  sobered  was  their  mood. 
Then  foot  for  foot  unto  the  chamber  yude. 

When  they  were  lodged  thus,  these  silly  mice, 

The  youngest  sister  into  her  buttery  hied, 

And   brought   forth   nuts   and    pease    instead    of 

spice ; 
If  this  was  good  fare,  I  put  it  to  them  beside. 
The  burgess  mouse  burst  forth  in  pride. 
And  said,  "  Sister  is  this  your  daily  food  ?  " 
"  Why  not,"  quoth  she,   "  is  not    this  meat  right 

good  ? " 

"  Let  be  this  hole,  and  come  into  my  place, 
I  shall  to  you  show  my  experience, 

*  Folded. 


Humorous  Verse  33 

My  good  Friday  is  better  nor  your  Pace  ; 

My  dish  washings  is  worth  your  whole  expense  ; 

I  have  houses  enow  of  great  defence  ; 

Of  cat  or  fall  tray,  I  have  no  dread." 

"  I  grant,"  quoth  she  ;  and  on  together  they  hied. 

In  stubble  array  through  rankest  grass  and  corn, 
And  under  bushes  privily  could  they  creep, 
The  eldest  was  the  guide  and  went  beforn. 
The  younger  to  her  wayes  took  good  keep. 
At  night  they  ran,  and  in  the  day  can  sleep  ; 
Till  in  the  morning  ere  the  Laverock  sang. 
They  found  the  town,  and  in  blithely  could  gang. 


After  when  they  disposed  were  to  dine, 
Withouten  grace  they  wash'd,  and  went  to  meat, 
With  all  the  courses  that  cooks  could  define. 
Mutton  and  beef  laid  out  in  slices  great  ; 
And  lordes  fare  thus  could  they  counterfeit, 
Except  one  thing,  they  drank  the  water  clear 
Instead  of  wine,  but  yet  they  made  good  cheer. 

With  blythe  upcast  and  merry  countenance, 

The  eldest  sister  asked  of  her  guest, 

If  that  she  by  reason  found  difference 

Betwixt  that  chamber  and  her  sorry  nest  ? 

"Yea   dame,"   quoth   she,    "how   long    will   this 

lest  ?  " 
"  For  evermore,  I  wot,  and  longer  too." 
"If  that  be  so  you  are  at  ease,"  quoth  she. 


Thus  made  they  merry  till  they  might  na  mair, 
And,  Hail,  yule,  hail  !  cried  upon  hie  ; 
Yet,  after  joy  ofttimes  comes  care, 
And  trouble  after  great  prosperity  : 

D 


34  Homofoos  Verse 

Thus  as  they  sat  in  all  their  jollity, 

The  Spenser  came  with  keyes  in  his  hand, 

Opened  the  door,  and  them  at  dinner  tand. 

They  tarried  not  to  wash  as  I  suppose, 
But  on  to  go  who  that  might  foremost  win. 
The  burgess  had  a  hole,  and  in  she  goes, 
Her  sister  had  no  hole  to  hide  her  in. 
To  see  that  silly  mouse,  it  was  great  sin,* 
So  desolate  and  wild  of  all  good  reid, 
For  very  dread  she  fell  in  swoon  near  dead. 

But  as  God  would,  it  fell  a  happy  case, 
The  Spenser  had  no  leisure  for  to  bide, 
Neither  to  seek  nor  search,  to  scare  nor  chase, 
But  on  he  went  and  left  the  door  up  wide. 
The  bold  burgess  his  passing  well  had  spied, 
Out  of  her  hole  she  came,  and  cried  on  hie, 
"  How  fare  ye,  sister ;  cry  '  Peip,'  where  e'er  ye  be  ? 

"  Why  lie  ye  thus?  rise  up  my  sister  dear  : 

Come  to  your  meat,  this  peril  is  over  past." 

The  other  answered  her  with  heavy  cheer, 

"  I  may  not  eat,  so  sore  I  am  aghast ; 

I  had  liever  these  forty  dayes  fast. 

With  water  kail,  and  to  gnaw  beans  or  pease. 

Than  all  your  feast,  in  this  dread  and  disease. 

"  Where  I  in  to  the  home  that  I  came  fro', 
For  weil  or  woe,  I  should  ne'er  come  again." 
With  that  she  took  her  leave  and  forth  'gan  go. 
Whiles  through  the  corn,  and  whiles  through  the 

plain. 
When  she  was  forth  and  free,  she  was  full  fain, 
And  merrily  merkitt  unto  the  moor  ; 
I  can  not  tell  how  afterward  she  fure. 

•  Pity.  t  Trotted. 


Humorous  Verse  35 

But  I  heard  say  she  passed  to  her  den. 

As  warm  as  wool,  suppose  it  was  not  great, 

Full  bonnily  stuffed  was  both  but  and  ben. 

Of  beans  and  nuts,  and  pease,  and  rye,  and  wheat 

When  ever  she  list  she  had  enough  to  eat. 

In  quiet  and  ease,  withouten  any  dread. 

But  to  her  sister's  feast  no  more  she  gaed. 

MORAL. 

Blessed  with  simple  life  withouten  dreid ; 

Blessed  be  sober  feast  in  quiete  ; 

Who  has  enough,  of  no  more  has  he  need. 

Though  it  be  little  into  quantity. 

Great  aboundance,  and  blind  prosperity, 

Ofttimes  make  an  evil  conclusion  ; 

The  sweetest  life,  therefore,  in  this  country, 

Is  of  security,  with  small  possession. 


AMENDS   TO    THE    TAILORS   AND 
SOUTARS. 

By  William  Dunbar. 

Betwixt  twal'  hours  and  eleven, 
I  dreamed  an  angel  came  fra  heaven. 
With  pleasant  stevin,*  saying  on  hie. 
Tailors  and  Soutars,t  blest  be  ye  ! 

In  heaven  high  ordained  is  your  place. 
Above  all  saints  in  great  soMce, 
Next  God,  greatest  in  dignity  : 
Tailors  and  Soutars,  blest  be  ye  I 

The  cause  to  you  is  not  unkend, 
What  God  mismakes  ye  do  amend. 
By  craft  and  great  agility  : 
Tailors  and  Soutars,  blest  be  ye  ! 

•  Sound.  t  Cobblers. 


36  Humorous  Verse 

Soutars,  with  shoes  well  made  and  meet, 
Ye  mend  the  faults  of  ill-made  feet ; 
Wherefore  to  Heaven  your  souls  will  flee  ; 
Tailors  and  Soutars,  blest  be  ye  I 

And  Tailors,  with  well-made  clothes, 
Can  mend  the  worst-made  man  that  goes, 
And  make  him  seemly  for  to  see  : 
Tailors  and  Soutars,  blest  be  ye  I 

Though  God  made  a  misfashioned  man, 
Ye  can  him  all  shape  new  again, 
And  fashion  him  better  be  sic  three : 
Tailors  and  Soutars,  blest  be  ye  ! 

Though  a  man  have  a  broken  back. 
Have  ye  a  good  crafty  tailor,  what  rack*  ! — 
That  can  it  cover  with  crafts  slee : 
Tailors  and  Soutars,  blest  be  ye  I 

Of  God  great  kindness  ye  may  claim. 
That  helps  his  people  frae  crook  and  lame, 
Supporting  faults  with  your  supplie  : 
Tailors  and  Soutars,  blest  be  ye  ! 

In  earth  ye  kytht  such  miracles  here, 
In  Heaven  ye  shall  be  Saints  full  clear. 
Though  ye  be  knaves  in  this  countrie  : 
Tailors  and  Soutars  blest  be  ye  ! 

A  CARMAN'S  ACCOUNT  OF  A  LAW-SUIT. 
By  Sir  David  Lindesay. 

Marry,  I  lent  my  gossip  "my  mare,  to  fetch  home 

coals, 
And  he  her  drowned  into  the  quarry  holes  ; 
And  I  ran  to  the  Consistory,  for  to  'plain, 

*  Matter.  t  Produce. 


Humorous  Verse  37 

And  there  I  happened  among  a  greedy  meine.* 
They  gave  me  first  a  thing  they  call  Citandum  ; 
Within  eight  days,  I  got  but  Libellandum  ; 
Within  a  month,  I  got  Ad  oppenendum  ; 
In  half  a  year,  I  got  Interloquendum ; 
And  then  I  got — how  call  ye  it  ? — Ad  replicandum. 
But  I  could  never  one  word  yet  understand  them  ; 
And  then,  they  caused  me  cast  out  many  placks, 
And  made  me  pay  for  four-  and-twenty  acts. 
But,  ere  they  came  half  gait  to  Concludendum, 
The  fiend  one  plack  was  left  for  to  defend  him. 
Thus  they  postponed   me  two    years,    with    their 

train. 
Then,  hodie  ad  octo,  bad  me  come  again, 
And  then,  these  rooks,  they  roupit  +  wonder  fast, 
For  sentence  silver,  they  cried  at  the  last. 
Of  Pronunciandum  they  made  me  wonder  fain  :     • 
But  I  got  never  my  good  grey  mare  again. 


THE    GABERLUNZIE    MAN. 

By  King  James  V.  of  Scotland. 

The  pawky  auld  carle  came  o'er  the  lee, 
Wi'  many  good  e'ens  and  days  to  me, 
Saying,  Goodwife,  for  your  courtesie. 

Will  you  lodge  a  silly  poor  man  ? 
The  night  was  cauld,  the  carle  was  wat ; 
And  down  ayont  the  ingle  he  sat ; 
My  daughter's  shoulders  he  'gan  to  clap. 

And  cadgily  ranted  and  sang, 

O  wow  !  quo'  he,  were  I  as  free 
As  first  when  I  saw  this  countrie. 
How  blythe  and  meny  wad  I  be  ! 
And  I  wad  never  think  lang. 

•  Company.  t  Croaked. 


3  8  Humorous  Verse 

He  grew  canty,  and  she  grew  fain, 
But  little  did  her  auld  minny  ken 
What  thir  slee  twa  thegither  were  say'ng, 
When  wooing  they  were  sae  thrang. 

And  O,  quo'  he,  an'  ye  were  as  black 
As  e'er  the  crown  of  my  daddy's  hat, 
Tis  I  wad  lay  thee  by  my  back, 

And  awa'  wi'  me  thou  should  gang. 
And  O,  quo'  she,  an  I  were  as  white 
As  e'er  the  snaw  lay  on  the  dike, 
I'd  deed  me  braw  and  ladylike. 

And  awa'  wi'  thee  I  wou'd  gang. 

Between  the  twa  was  made  a  plo 
They  rose  a  wee  before  the  cock. 
And  wilily  they  shot  the  lock. 

And  fast  to  the  bent  are  they  gane. 
Up  in  the  morn  the  auld  wife  raise, 
And  at  her  leisure  put  on  her  claise  ; 
Syne  to  the  servant's  bed  she  gaes. 

To  speer  for  the  silly  poor  man. 

She  gaed  to  the  bed  where  the  beggar  lay  ; 
The  strae  was  cauld,  he  was  away, 
She  clapt  her  hands,  cry'd  Waladay, 

For  some  of  our  gear  will  be  gane  ! 
Some  ran  to  coffer  and  some  to  kist. 
But  nought  was  stown  that  could  be  mist ; 
She  danced  her  lane,  cry'd  Praise  be  blest, 

I  have  lodg'd  a  leal  poor  man  I 
Since  naething's  awa',  as  we  can  learn. 
The  kirn's  to  kirn,  and  the  milk  to  earn, 
Gae  but  the  house,  lass,  and  waken  my  bairn, 

And  bid  her  come  quickly  ben. 
The  servant  ga'ed  where  the  daughter  lay. 
The  sheets  were  cauld,  she  was  away. 
And  fast  to  her  goodwife  did  say. 

She's  aff  with  the  gaberlunzie  man. 


Humorous  Verse  39 

O  fy  gar  ride,  and  fy  gar  rin, 

And  haste  ye  find  these  traitors  again  ; 

For  she's  be  burnt  and  he's  be  slain, 

The  wearifu'  gaberlunzie  man. 
Some  rade  upo'  horse,  some  ran  a-fit, 
The  wife  was  mad,  and  out  o'  her  wit, 
She  could  na  gang,  nor  yet  cou'd  she  sit, 

But  she  curs'd  ay,  and  she  bann'd. 

Meantime  far  'hind  out  o'er  the  lee, 

Fu'  snug  in  a  glen,  where  nane  cou'd  see, 

The  twa,  with  kindly  sport  and  glee. 

Cut  frae  a  new  cheese  a  whang  : 
The  priving  was  good,  it  pleas'd  them  baith, 
To  lo'e  her  for  ay,  he  gae  her  his  aith. 
Quo'  she.  To  leave  thee  I  will  be  laith. 

My  winsome  gaberlunzie  man. 

O  kend  my  minny  I  were  wi'  you, 
lU-faurdly  wad  she  crook  her  mou' ; 
Sic  a  poor  man  she'd  never  trow. 

After  the  gaberlunzie  man. 
My  dear,  quo'  he,  ye're  yet  o'er  young, 
And  hae  na  learn'd  the  beggar's  tongue. 
To  follow  me  frae  town  to  town. 

And  carry  the  gaberlunzie  on. 

Wi'  cauk  and  keel  I'll  win  your  bread, 

And  spindles  and  whorles  for  them  wha  need, 

Whilk  is  a  gentle  trade  indeed, 

To  cany  the  gaberlunzie  on. 
I'll  bow  my  leg,  and  crook  my  knee. 
And  draw  a  black  clout  o'er  my  e'e ; 
A  cripple  or  blind  they  will  ca'  me, 

While  we  shall  me  merry  and  sing. 


40  Humorous  Vcfse 

A   TERNARY  OF   LITTLES,  UPON    A 

PIPKIN    OF  JELLY   SENT   TO   A   LADY 

By  Robert  Herrick. 

A  LITTLE  saint  best  fits  a  little  shrine, 

A  little  prop  best  fits  a  little  vine  ; 

As  iny  small  cruse  best  fits  my  little  wine. 

A  little  seed  best  fits  a  little  soil, 
A  little  trade  best  fits  a  little  toil ; 
As  my  small  jar  best  fits  my  little  oil. 

A  little  bin  best  fits  a  little  bread, 

A  little  garland  fits  a  little  head  ; 

As  my  small  stuff  best  fits  my  little  shed. 

A  little  hearth  best  fits  a  little  fire, 

A  little  chapel  fits  a  little  choir ; 

As  my  small  bell  best  fits  my  little  spire. 

A  little  stream  best  fits  a  little  boat, 

A  little  lead  best  fits  a  little  float ; 

As  my  small  pipe  best  fits  my  little  note. 

A  little  meat  best  fits  a  little  belly. 

As  sweetly,  lady,  give  me  leave  to  tell  ye. 

This  little  pipkin  fits  this  little  jelly. 

ON    THE    OXFORD    CARRIER. 

By  John  Milton. 

Here  lieth  one,  who  did  most  truly  prove 

That  he  could  never  die  while  he  could  move  ; 

So  hung  his  destiny  never  to  rot 

While  he  might  still  jog  on  and  keep  his  trot; 

Made  of  sphere  metal,  never  to  decay 

Until  his  revolution  was  at  stay. 

Time  numbers  motion,  yet  (without  a  crime 

'Gainst  old  truth)  motion  numbered  out  his  time 


Humorous  Verse  41 

And  like  an  engine  moved  with  wheel  and  weight, 
His  principles  bei'ng  ceased,  he  ended  straight. 
Rest,  that  gives  all  men  life,  gave  him  his  death, 
And  too  much  breathing  put  him  out  of  breath  ; 
Nor  were  it  contradiction  to  afifirm, 
Too  long  vacation  hasten'd  on  his  term. 
Merely  to  drive  the  time  away  he  sicken'd, 
Fainted,  and  died,  nor  would  with  ale  be  quicken'd; 
"  Nay,"  quoth  he,  on  his  swooning  bed  outstretch'd, 
"  If  I  mayn't  carry,  sure  I'll  ne'er  be  fetch'd. 
But  vow,  though  the  cross  doctors  all  stood  hearers, 
For  one  carrier  put  down  to  make  six  bearers." 
Ease  was  his  chief  disease;  and  to  judge  right, 
He  died  for  heaviness  that  his  cart  went  light : 
His  leisure  told  him  that  his  time  was  come. 
And  lack  of  load  made  his  life  burdensome. 
That  even  to  his  last  breath  (there  be  that  say't), 
As  he  were  press'd  to  death,  he  cried,  "  More 

weight ;" 
But,  had  his  doings  lasted  as  they  were. 
He  had  been  an  immortal  carrier. 
Obedient  to  the  moon  he  spent  his  date 
In  course  reciprocal,  and  had  his  fate 
Link'd  to  the  mutual  flowing  of  the  seas. 
Yet  (strange  to  think)  his  wane  was  his  increase  : 
His  letters  are  deliver'd  all,  and  gone. 
Only  remains  the  superscription, 

AN 

EPISTLE    TO    FLEETWOOD    SHEPHARD, 
ESQ. 
By  Matthew  Prior, 
burleigh,  may  14,  1689. 
Sir, 
As  once  a  twelvemonth  to  the  priest, 
Holy  at  Rome,  here  antichrist, 


42  Humorous  Verse 

The  Spanish  king  presents  a  jennet, 

To  show  his  love  ;— That's  all  that's  in  it : 

For  if  his  holiness  would  thump 

His  reverend  bum  'gainst  horse's  rump, 

He  might  b'  equipt  from  his  own  stable 

With  one  more  white,  and  eke  more  able. 

Or  as  with  Gondolas,  and  men,  his 
Good  excelle«ce  the  Duke  of  Venice 
(I  wish,  for  rhyme,  't  had  been  the  king) 
Sails  out,  and  gives  the  gulf  a  ring  ; 
Which  trick  of  state,  he  wisely  maintains, 
Keeps  kindness  up  'twixt  old  acquaintance  : 
For  else,  in  honest  truth,  the  sea 
Has  much  less  need  of  gold,  than  he. 

Or,  not  to  rove,  and  pump  one's  fancy 
For  popish  similes  beyond  sea  ; 
As  folks  from  mud-wall'd  tenement 
Bring  landlords  pepper-corn  for  rent ; 
Present  a  turkey,  or  a  hen. 
To  those  might  better  spare  them  ten  :  < 

Ev'n  so,  with  all  submission,  I 
(For  first  men  instance,  then  apply) 
Send  you  each  year  a  homely  letter, 
Who  may  return  me  much  a  better. 

Then  take  it,  Sir,  as  it  was  writ. 
To  pay  respect,  and  not  show  wit : 
Nor  look  askew  at  what  it  saith  ; 
There's  no  petition  in  it, — 'Faith. 

Here  some  would  scratch  their  heads,  andti  y 
What  they  should  write,  and  how,  and  why  ; 
But  I  conceive,  such  folks  are  quite  in 
Mistakes,  in  theory  of  writing. 
If  once  for  principle  'tis  laid. 
That  thought  is  trouble  to  the  head  ; 
I  argue  thus  :  the  world  agrees 
That  he  writes  well,  who  writes  with  ease  : 
That  he,  by  sequel  logical, 


Humorous  Verse  4:; 

Writes  best,  who  never  thinks  at  all. 

Verse  comes  from  Heav'n,  like  inward  light  ; 
Mere  human  pains  can  ne'er  come  by  't 
The  God,  not  we,  the  poem  makes  ; 
We  only  tell  folks  what  he  speaks. 
Hence  when  anatomists  discourse, 
How  like  brutes'  organs  are  to  ours  ; 
They  grant,  if  higher  powers  think  fit, 
A  bear  might  soon  be  made  a  wit ; 
And  that  for  any  thing  in  nature. 
Pigs  might  squeak  love-odes,  dogs  bark  satire. 

Memnon,  though  stone,  was  counted  vocal ; 
But  'twas  the  God,  meanwhile,  that  spoke  all. 
Rome  oft  has  heard  a  cross  haranguing. 
With  prompting  priest  behind  the  hanging  : 
The  wooden  head  resolv'd  the  question  ; 
While  you  and  Pettis  help'd  the  jest  on. 

Your  crabbed  rogues,  that  read  Lucretius, 
Are  against  gods,  you  know  ;  and  teach  us. 
That  God  makes  not  the  poet ;  but 
The  thesis,  vice-versa  put, 
Should  Hebrew-wise  be  understood  ; 
And  means,  the  Poet  makes  the  God. 

Egyptian  gard'nei's  thus  are  said  to 
Have  set  the  leeks  they  after  pray'd  to  ; 
And  Roman  bakers  praise  the  deity 
They  chipp'd,  while  yet  in  its  paniety. 

That  when  you  poets  swear  and  cry. 
The  God  inspires  ;  I  rave,  I  die  ; 
If  inward  wind  does  truly  swell  ye, 
'T  must  be  the  colic  in  your  belly  : 
That  writing  is  but  just  like  dice  ; 
And  lucky  mains  make  people  wise  : 
That  jumbled  words,  if  fortune  throw  'em, 
Shall,  well  as  Dryden,  form  a  poem  ; 
Or  make  a  speech,  correct  and  witty. 
As  you  know  who — at  the  committee. 


44  Humorous  Verse 

So  atoms  dancing  round  the  centre, 
They  urge,  made  all  things  at  a  venture. 

But  granting  matters  should  be  spoke 
By  method,  rather  than  by  luck  ; 
This  may  confine  their  younger  styles, 
Whom  Dryden  pedagogues  at  Will's  : 
But  never  could  be  meant  to  tie 
Authentic  wits,  like  you  and  I  : 
For  as  young  children,  who  are  try'd  in 
Go-carts,  to  keep  their  steps  from  sliding ; 
When  members  knit,  and  legs  grow  stronger, 
Make  use  of  such  machine  no  longer  ; 
But  leap  pro  libitu,  and  scout 
On  horse  call'd  hobby,  or  without  : 
So  when  at  school  we  first  declaim, 
Old  Busby  walks  us  in  a  theme, 
Whose  props  support  our  infant  vein, 
And  help  the  rickets  in  the  brain  : 
But  when  our  souls  their  force  dilate, 
And  thoughts  grow  up  to  wit's  estate  ; 
In  verse  or  prose,  v.e  write  or  chat, 
Not  six-pence  matter  upon  what. 

'Tis  not  how  well  an  author  says  ; 
But  'tis  how  much,  that  gathers  praise. 
Tonson,  who  is  himself  a  wit, 
Counts  writers'  merits  by  the  sheet. 
Thus  each  should  down  with  all  he  thinks, 
As  boys  eat  bread,  to  fill  up  chinks. 

Kind  Sir,  I  should  be  glad  to  see  you  ; 
I  hope  y'  are  well ;  so  God  be  wi'  you  ; 
Was  all  I  thought  at  first  to  write  : 
But  things,  since  then,  are  alter'd  quite  ; 
Fancies  flow  in,  and  Muse  flies  high  ; 
So  God  knows  when  my  clack  will  lie  : 
I  must,  Sir,  prattle  on,  as  afore. 
And  beg  your  pardon  yet  this  half  hour. 

So  at  pure  barn  of  loud  Non-con, 


Htimofous  Verse  45 

Where  with  my  grannam  I  have  gone, 
When  Lobb  had  sifted  all  his  text, 
And  I  well-hop'd  the  pudding  next ; 
Now  TO  APPLY  has  plagued  me  more. 
Than  all  his  villain  cant  before. 

For  your  religion,  first,  of  her 
Your  friends  do  sav'ry  things  aver  : 
They  say,  she's  honest,  as  your  claret. 
Not  sour'd  with  cant,  nor  stum'd  with  merit  : 
Your  chamber  is  the  sole  retreat 
Of  chaplains  every  Sunday  night : 
Of  grace,  no  doubt,  a  certain  sign. 
When  lay-man  herds  with  man  divine  : 
For  if  their  fame  be  justly  great. 
Who  would  no  Popish  nuncio  treat ; 
That  his  is  greater,  we  must  grant. 
Who  will  treat  nuncios  Protestant. 
One  single  positive  weighs  more, 
You  know,  than  negatives  a  score. 

In  politics,  I  hear,  you're  stanch. 
Directly  bent  against  the  French  ; 
Deny  to  have  your  free-born  toe 
Dragoon'd  into  a  wooden  shoe  : 
Are  in  no  plots  ;  but  fairly  drive  at 
The  public  welfare,  in  your  private  : 
And  will,  for  England's  glory,  try 
Turks,  Jews,  and  Jesuits  to  defy, 
And  keep  your  places  till  you  die. 

For  me,  whom  wand'ring  Fortune  threw 
From  what  I  lov'd,  the  town  and  you  ; 
Let  me  just  tell  you  how  my  time  is 
Past  in  a  country-life. — Imprimis, 
As  soon  as  Phcebus'  rays  inspect  us, 
First,  Sir,  I  read,  and  then  I  breakfast ; 
So  on,  till  foresaid  God  does  set, 
I  sometimes  study,  sometimes  eat. 
Thus,  of  your  heroes  and  brave  boys, 


46  Humorous  Verse 

With  whom  old  Homer  makes  such  noise, 

The  greatest  actions  I  can  find, 

Are,  they  that  did  their  work,  and  din'd. 

The  books  of  which  I'm  chiefly  fond. 
Are  such  as  you  have  whilom  conn'd ; 
That  treat  of  China's  civil  law, 
And  subjects'  rights  in  Golconda  ; 
Of  highway-elephants  at  Ceylan, 
That  rob  in  clans,  like  men  o'  th'  Highland ; 
Of  apes  that  storm,  or  keep  a  town. 
As  well  almost,  as  count  Lauzun  ; 
Of  unicorns  and  alligators, 
Elks,  mermaids,  mummies,  witches,  satyrs, 
And  twenty  other  stranger  matters  ; 
Which,  though  they're  things  I've  no  concern  in, 
Make  all  our  grooms  admire  my  learning. 

Critics  I  read  on  other  men, 
And  hypers  upon  them  again  ; 
From  whose  remarks  I  give  opinion 
On  twenty  books,  yet  ne'er  look  in  one. 

Then  all  your  wits,  that  fleer  and  sham, 
Down  from  Don  Quixote  to  Tom  Tram  ; 
From  whom  I  jests  and  puns  purloin, 
And  slily  put  them  off  for  mine  : 
Fond  to  be  thought  a  country  wit : 
The  rest, — when  fate  and  you  think  fit. 

Sometimes  I  climb  my  mare,  and  kick  her 
To  bottled  ale,  and  neighbouring  vicar ; 
Sometimes  at  Stamford  take  a  quart, 
Squire  Shephard's  health, — with  all  my  heart. 

Thus,  without  much  delight,  or  grief, 
I  fool  away  an  idle  life  ; 
Till  Shadwell  from  the  town  retires, 
(Chok'd  up  with  fame  and  sea-coal  fires,) 
To  bless  the  wood  with  peaceful  lyric ; 
Then  hey  for  praise  and  panegyric ; 
Justice  restor'd  and  nations  freed. 
And  wreaths  round  William's  glorious  head. 


Humorous  Verse  47 

THE   CHAMELEON. 

By  Matthew  Prior. 

As  the  Chameleon,  who  is  known 

To  have  no  colours  of  his  own  ; 

But  borrows  from  his  neighbour's  hue 

His  white  or  black,  his  green  or  blue ; 

And  struts  as  much  in  ready  light. 

Which  credit  gives  him  upon  sight : 

As  if  the  rainbow  were  in  tail 

Settled  upon  him,  and  his  heir  male  ; 

So  the  young  squire,  when  first  he  comes 

From  country  school  to  Will's  or  Tom's  : 

And  equally,  in  truth,  is  fit 

To  be  a  statesman  or  a  wit  ; 

Without  one  notion  of  his  own. 

He  saunters  wildly  up  and  down  ; 

Till  some  acquaintance,  good  or  bad, 

Takes  notice  of  a  staring  lad  ; 

Admits  him  in  among  the  gang : 

They  jest,  reply,  dispute,  harangue  ; 

He  acts  and  talks,  as  they  befriend  him, 

Smear'd  with  the  colours  which  they  lend  him. 

Thus  merely,  as  his  fortune  chances. 
His  merit  or  his  vice  advances. 

If  haply  he  the  sect  pursues. 
That  read  and  comment  upon  news  ; 
He  takes  up  their  mysterious  face  : 
He  drinks  his  cofifee  without  lace. 
This  week  his  mimic-tongue  runs  o'er 
What  they  have  said  the  week  before  ; 
His  wisdom  sets  all  Europe  right. 
And  teaches  Marlborough  when  to  fight. 

Or  if  it  be  his  fate  to  meet 
With  folks  who  have  more  wealth  than  wit 
He  loves  cheap  port,  and  double  bub 


4^  Humorous  Verse 

And  settles  in  the  hum-drum  club  : 
He  learns  how  stocks  will  fall  or  rise  ; 
Holds  poverty  the  greatest  vice  ; 
Thinks  wit  the  bane  of  conversation  ; 
And  says  that  learning  spoils  a  nation. 

But  if,  at  first,  he  minds  his  hits, 
And  drinks  champagne  among  the  wits 
Five  deep  he  toasts  the  towering  lasses  ; 
Repeats  you  verses  wrote  on  glasses  ; 
Is  in  the  chair  ;  prescribes  the  law  ; 
And  lies  with  those  he  never  saw. 


A   SIMILE. 

By  Matthew  Prior. 

Dear  Thomas,  didst  thou  never  pop 
Thy  head  into  a  tin-man's  shop  ? 
There,  Thomas,  didst  thou  never  see 
('Tis  but  by  way  of  simile) 
A  squirrel  spend  his  little  rage, 
In  jumping  round  a  rolling  cage  ? 
The  cage,  as  either  side  turn'd  up. 
Striking  a  ring  of  bells  a-top  ? — 

Mov'd  in  the  orb,  pleas'd  with  the  chimes, 
The  foolish  creature  thinks  he  climbs  : 
But  here  or  there,  turn  wood  or  wire, 
He  never  gets  two  inches  higher. 

So  fares  it  with  those  merry  blades, 
That  frisk  it  under  Pindus'  shades. 
In  noble  songs,  and  lofty  odes, 
They  tread  on  stars,  and  talk  with  gods  ; 
Still  dancing  in  an  airy  round. 
Still  pleas'd  with  their  own  verses'  sound  ; 
Brought  back,  how  fast  soe'er  they  go, 
Always  aspiring,  always  low. 


Hwmofous  Verse  49 

BIBO  AND  CHARON. 

By  Matthew  Prior. 

When  Bibo  thought  fit  from  the  world  to  retreat, 
As  full  of  champagne  as  an  egg's  full  of  meat, 
He  wak'd  in  the  boat ;  and  to  Charon  he  said. 
He  would  be  row'd  back,  for  he  was  not  yet  dead. 
Trim  the  boat,  and  sit  quiet,  stern  Charon  replied 
Vou  may  have  forgot,  you  were  drunk  when  you 
died. 


(II.) 

THE   WIFE    OF   BATH'S    PROLOGUE. 

By  Geoffrey  Chaucer. 

Of  the  Bad  opinion  of  Women  held  by  learned 
Clerks^  and  of  the  Wife  of  Bath  her  Fifth 
Husband. 

The  children  of  Mercurie  and  of  Venus 
Been  in  hir  wirking  ful  contrarious  ; 
Mercurie  loveth  wisdom  and  science, 
And  Venus  loveth  ryot  and  dispence. 
And,  for  hir  diverse  disposicioun, 
Ech  falleth  in  otheres  exaltacioun  ; 
And  thus,  god  vvoot !  Mercurie  is  desolat 
In  Pisces,  wher  Venus  is  exaltat; 
And  Venus  falleth  ther  Mercurie  is  reysed  ; 
Therfore  no  womman  of  no  clerk  is  preysed. 
The  clerk,  whan  he  is  old,  and  may  noght  do 
Of  Venus  werkes  worth  his  olde  sho. 
Than  sit  he  doun,  and  writ  in  his  dotage 
That  wommen  can  nat  kepe  hir  mariage  ! 
But  now  to  purpos,  why  I  tolde  thee 


Humorous  Verse  51 

That  I  was  beten  for  a  book,  pardee. 
Up-on  a  night  Jankin,  that  was  our  syre, 
Redde  on  his  book,  as  he  sat  by  the  fyre, 
Of  Eva  first,  that,  for  hir  wikkednesse, 
Was  al  mankinde  broght  to  wrecchednesse. 
For  which  that  Jesu  Crist  him-self  was  slayn 
That  boghte  us  with  his  herte-blood  agayn. 
Lo,  here  expres  of  womman  may  ye  finde. 
That  womman  was  the  los  of  al  mankinde. 

Tho  redde  he  me  how  Sampson  loste  his  heres 
Slepinge,  his  lemman  kitte  hem  with  hir  sheres ; 
Thurgh  whiche  tresoun  loste  he  bothe  his  yen. 

Tho  redde  he  me,  if  that  I  shal  nat  lyen, 
Of  Hercules  and  of  his  Dianyre, 
That  caused  him  to  sette  himself  a-fyre. 

No-thing  forgat  he  the  penaunce  and  wo 
That  Socrates  had  with  hise  wyves  two ; 
How  Xantippa  caste  pisse  up-on  his  heed ; 
This  sely  man  sat  stille,  as  he  were  deed ; 
He  wyped  his  heed,  namore  dorste  he  seyn 
But  "  er  that  thonder  stinte,  comth  a  reyn." 
Of  Phasipha,  that  was  the  quene  of  Crete, 
For  shrewednesse,  him  thoughte  the  tale  swete  ; 
Fy  I  spek  na-more — it  is  a  grisly  thing — 

Of  hir  horrible  lust  and  hir  lyking. 
Of  Clitemistra,  for  hir  lecherye, 

That  falsy  made  hir  housbond  for  to  dye, 

He  redde  it  with  ful  good  devocioun. 
He  tolde  me  eek  for  what  occasioun 

Amphiorax  at  Thebes  loste  his  lyf ; 

Myn  housbond  hadde  a  legende  of  his  wyf, 

Eriphilem,  that  for  an  ouche  of  gold 

Hath  prively  un-to  the  Grekes  told 

Wher  that  hir  housbonde  hidden  him  in  a  place, 

For  which  he  hadde  at  Thebes  sorytgrace. 
Of  Lyma  tolde  he  me,  and  of  Lucye, 

They  bothe  made  hir  housbondes  for  to  d>  e ; 


52  Humorous  Verse 

That  oon  for  love,  that  other  was  for  hate  ; 
Lyma  hir  housbond,  on  an  even  late, 
Empoysoned  hath,  for  that  she  was  his  fo. 
Lucya,  likerous,  loved  hir  housbond  so, 
That,  for  he  sholde  alwey  up-on  hir  thinke, 
She  yaf  him  swich  a  maner  love-drinke, 
That  he  was  deed,  er  it  were  by  the  morwe  ; 
And  thus  algates  housbondes  han  sorwe. 
Than  tolde  he  me,  how  oon  Latumius. 
Compleyned  to  his  felawe  Arrius, 
That  in  his  gardin  growed  swich  a  tree, 
On  which,  he  seyde,  how  that  his  wyves  three 
Hanged  hem-self  for  herte  despitous. 
"  O  leve  brother,"  quod  this  Arrius, 
"  Yif  me  a  plante  of  thilke  blissed  tree, 
And  in  my  gardin  planted  shal  it  be  !" 
Of  latter  date,  of  wyves  hate  he  red. 
That  somme  han  slayn  hir  housbondes  in  hir  bed, 
And  lete  hir  lechour  dighte  hir  al  the  night 
Whyl  that  the  corps  lay  in  the  floor  upright. 
And  somme  han  drive  nayles  in  hir  brayn 
Whyl   that  they  slepte,  and  thus  they  han  hem 

slayn. 
Somme  han  hem  yeve  poysoun  in  hir  drinke. 
He  spak  more  harm  than  herte  may  bithinke. 
And  ther-with-al,  he  knew  of  mo  proverbes 
Than  in  this  world  ther  growen  gras  or  herbes. 
"  Bet  is,"  quod  he,  "thyn  habitacioun 
Be  with  a  leoun  or  a  foul  dragoun. 
Than  with  a  womman  usinge  for  to  chyde. 
Bet  is,"  quod  he,  "  hye  in  the  roof  abyde 
Than  with  an  angry  wyf  doun  in  the  hous ; 
They  been  so  wikked  and  contrarious ; 
They  haten  that  hir  housbondes  loveth  ay." 
He  seyde,  "a  womman  cast  hir  shame  away, 
Whan  she  cast  of  hir  smok  ; "  and  forthermo, 
"A  fair  womman,  but  she  be  chaast  also, 


Humofous  VcfsC  53 

Is  lyk  a  gold  ring  in  a  sowes  nose." 
Who  wolde  wenen,  or  who  wolde  suppose 
The  wo  that  in  myn  herte  was,  and  pyne  ? 

And  whan  I  saugh  he  wolde  never  fyne 
To  reden  on  this  cursed  book  al  night, 
Al  sodeynly  three  leves  have  I  plight 
Out  of  his  book,  right  as  he  radde,  and  eke, 
I  with  my  fist  so  took  him  on  the  cheke, 
That  in  our  fyr  he  fil  bakward  adoun. 
And  he  up-stirte  as  dooth  a  wood  leoun, 
And  with  his  fist  he  smoot  me  on  the  heed , 
That  in  the  floor  I  lay  as  I  were  deed. 
And  when  he  saugh  how  stille  that  I  lay, 
He  was  agast,  and  wolde  han  fled  his  way, 
Til  atte  laste  out  of  my  swogh*  I  breydef: 
"O  I  hastow  slayn  me,  false  theef?"  I  seyde, 
"  And  for  my  land  thus  hastow  mordred  me  ? 
Er  I  be  deed,  yet  wol  I  kisse  thee." 

And  neer  he  cam,  and  kneled  faire  adoun, 
And  seyde,  "  dere  suster  Alisoun, 
As  help  me  god,  I  shal  thee  never  smyte  ; 
That  I  have  doon,  it  is  thy-self  to  wytef. 
Foryeve  it  me,  and  that  I  thee  biseke  " — 
And  yet  eft-sones  I  hitte  him  on  the  cheke. 
And  seyde,  "  theef,  thus  muchel  am  I  wreke ; 
Now  wol  I  dye,  I  may  no  lenger  speke." 
But  atte  laste,  with  muchel  care  and  wo, 
We  fille  acorded,  by  us  selven  tv/o. 
He  yaf  me  al  the  brydel  in  myn  bond 
To  han  the  governance  of  hous  and  lond, 
And  of  his  tonge  and  of  his  bond  also, 
And  made  him  brenne  his  book  anon  right  tho. 
And  whan  that  I  hadde  geten  un-to  me, 
By  maistrie,  al  the  soveraynetee, 
And  that  he  seyde,  "  myn  owene  trewe  wyf, 
Do  as  thee  lust  the  terme  of  al  thy  lyt, 

•  Swoon.  +  Started.  t  B'ame. 


54  Humorous  Verse 

Keep  thyn  honour,  and  keep  eek  myn  estaat"- 
After  that  day  we  hadden  never  debaat. 
God  help  me  so,  I  was  to  him  as  kinde 
As  any  wyf  from  Denmark  un-to  Inde, 
And  also  trewe,  and  so  was  he  to  me. 


GOSSIP  MINE. 

(Anon.) 

I  WILL  you  tell  a  full  good  sport, 
How  gossips  gather  them  on  a  sort, 
Their  sick  bodies  for  to  comfort. 
When  they  meet  in  a  lane  or  a  street. 

But  I  dare  not  for  their  displeasance. 
Tell  of  these  matters  half  the  substance  ; 
But  yet  somewhat  of  their  governance. 
As  far  as  I  dare  I  will  declare. 

"  Good  gossip  mine,  where  have  ye  be  ? 
It  is  so  long  since  I  you  see  ! 
Where  is  the  best  wine  ?  tell  you  me  : 
Can  you  aught  tell  full  well." 

"  I  know  a  draught  of  merry-go-down, — 
The  best  it  is  in  all  this  town  : 
But  yet  I  would  not,  for  my  gown, 
My  husband  is  wist,  — ye  may  me  trust. 

Call  forth  your  gossips  by  and  by, — 
Elinore,  Joan  and  Margery, 
Margaret,  Alice,  and  Cecily, 
For  they  will  come  both  all  and  some. 

And  each  of  them  will  somewhat  bring, — 
Goose,  pig,  or  capon's  wing, 
Pasties  of  pigeons,  or  some  such  thing  : 
For  a  gallon  of  wine  they  will  not  wring. 


Humorous  Verse  55 

Go  before  by  twain  and  twain, 
Wisely,  that  ye  be  not  seen  ; 
For  I  must  home — and  come  again — 
To  wit,  I  wis,  where  my  husband  is. 

A  stripe  or  two  God  might  send  me, 
If  my  husband  might  here  me  see." 
"  She  that  is  afear'd,  let  her  flee  !" 
Quoth  Alice  than,  "  I  fear  no  man  ! 

"  Now  be  we  in  tavern  set ; 
A  draught  of  the  best  let  him  fett, 
To  bring  our  husbands  out  of  debt  ; 
For  we  will  spend  till  God  more  send." 

Each  of  them  brought  forth  their  dish  : 
Some  brought  flesh  and  some  brought  fish, 
Quoth  Margaret  meek,  "  Now  with  a  wish, 
I    would  Anne   were  here  —  she   would  make  us 
good  cheer." 

"  How  you  say,  gossips  ?  is  that  wine  good  ?  " 
"  That  it  is,"  quoth  Elinore,  "by  the  rood  ! 
It  cherisheth  the  heart,  and  comforts  the  blood  ; 
Such  junkets  among  shall  make  us  live  long." 

"  Anne,  bid  fill  a  pot  of  Muscadel, 

For  of  all  wines  I  love  it  well. 

Sweet  wines  keep  my  body  in  hele  ; 

If  I  had  of  it  nought,  I  should  take  great  thought. 

"  Now  look  ye,  gossip,  at  the  board's  head  ? 
Not  merry,  gossip  ?    God  it  amend  ! 
All  shall  be  well,  else  God  it  defend : 
Be  merry  and  glad,  and  sit  not  so  sad." 

"  Would  God  I  had  done  after  your  counsel  ! 
For  my  husband  is  so  fell. 
He  beateth  me  like  the  devil  of  hell ; 
.\nd,  the  more  I  cry,  the  less  mercy." 


56  Humorous  Verse 

Alice  with  a  loud  voice  spake  than  : 

"  I  wis,"  she  said,  "  little  good  he  can 

That  beateth  or  striketh  any  woman, 

And  specially  his  wife  : — God  give  him  short  life  !  " 

Margaret  meek  said,  "  So  might  I  thrive, 
I  know  no  man,  that  is  alive 
That  give  me  two  strokes,  he  shall  have  five  : 
I  am  not  afear'd,  though  I  have  no  beard." 

One  cast  down  her  shot,  and  went  her  way. 
"Gossip,"  quoth  Elinore,  "  what  did  she  pay  .-""' 
"  Not  but  a  penny."     "  Lo  therefore  I  say 
She  shall  be  no  more  of  our  lore. 

"  Such  guests  we  may  have  enow 

That  will  not  for  their  shot  allow. 

With  whom  come  she?     Gossip,  with  you  ?" 

"  Nay,"  quoth  Joan,  "  I  come  alone." 

*'  Now  reckon  our  shot,  and  go  we  hence. 
What  I  cost  it  each  of  us  but  three  pence  ? 
Pardie  !  this  is  but  a  small  expense 
For  such  a  sort,  and  all  but  sport. 

"Turn  down  the  street  where  ye  came  out, 
And  we  will  compass  round-about.'' 
"Gossip,"  quoth  Anne,  "what  needeth  that  doubt? 
Your  husbands  be  pleased  when  ye  be  reised.. 

"  Whatsoever  any  man  think, 

We  come  for  nought  but  for  good  drink. 

Now  let  us  go  home  and  wink ; 

For  it  may  be  seen  where  we  have  been." 

From  the  tavern  be  they  all  gone ; 
And  everich  of  them  showeth  her  wisdom, 
And  there  she  telleth  her  husband  anon 
She  had  been  at  the  church. 


Humorous  Verse  57 

This  is  the  thought  that  gossips  take ; 
Once  in  the  week,  merry  will  they  make, 
And  all  small  drink  they  will  forsake, 
But  wine  of  the  best  shall  have  no  rest. 

Some  be  at  the  tavern  once  a  week, 

And  so  be  some  every  day  eke, 

Or  else  they  will  groan  and  make  them  sick ; 

For  things  used  will  not  be  refused. 

How  say  you,  women,  is  it  not  so  ? 
Yes  surely,  and  that  ye  well  know  ; 
And  therefore  let  us  drink  all  a-row. 
And  of  our  singing  make  a  good  ending. 

Now  fill  the  cup,  and  drink  to  me, 
And  then  shall  we  good  fellows  be  : — 
And  of  this  talking  leave  will  we, 
And  speak  then  good  of  women. 


TRUST  IN  WOMEN. 
(Anon.) 

When  these  things  following  be  done  to  our  intent, 
Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confident. 

When  nettles  in  winter  bring  forth  roses  red, 
And    all    manner    of   thorn    trees     bear     figs 
naturally, 

And  geese  bear  pearls  in  every  mead. 
And  laurel  bear  cherries  abundantly, 
And  oaks  bear  dates  very  plenteously, 

And  kisks*  give  of  honey  superfluence, 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence 

'  Hpnilotk  stalks. 


58  Humorous  Verse 

When  box  bear  paper  in  every  land  and  town, 
And  thistles  bear  berries  in  every  place, 

And  pikes  have  naturally  feathers  in  their  crown, 
And  bulls  of  the  sea  sing  a  good  bass. 
And  men  be  the  ships  fishes  trace, 

And  in  women  be  found  no  insipience, 

Then  put  them  in  trust  and  confidence. 

When  whitings  do  walk  forests  to  chase  harts, 
And  herrings  their  horns  in  forests  boldly  blow 

And  marmsets  mourn  in  moors  and  lakes. 
And  gurnards  shoot  looks  out  of  a  crossbow, 
And  goslings  hunt  the  wolf  to  overthrow. 

And  sprats  bear  spears  in  armes  of  defence. 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 

When  swine  be  cunning  in  all  points  of  music, 
And  asses  be  doctors  of  every  science. 

And  cats  do  heal  men  by  practising  of  physic, 
And  buzzards  to  scripture  give  any  credence, 
And  merchants  buy  with  horn,  instead  of  groats 
and  pence, 

And  pyes  be  made  poets  for  their  eloquence, 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 

When  sparrows  build  churches  on  a  height, 
And  wrens  carry  sacks  unto  the  mill, 

And  curlews  carry  timber  houses  to  dight. 
And  fomalls  bear  butter  to  market  to  sell, 
And  woodcocks  bear  woodknives  cranes  to  kill. 

And  greenfinches  to  goslings  do  obedience, 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 

When  crows  take  salmon  in  woods  and  parks. 

And  be  take  with  swifts  and  snails, 
And  camels  in  the  air  take  swallows  and  larks, 

And  mice  move  mountains  by  wagging  of  their 
tails, 

And  shipmen  take  a  ride  instead  of  sails, 


Humorous  Verse  59 

And  when  wives  to  their  husbands  do  no  offence, 
Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 

When  antelopes  surmount  eagles  in  flight, 

And  swans  be  swifter  than  hawks  of  the  tower, 

And  wrens  set  gos-hawks  by  force  and  might, 
And  muskets  make  verjuice  of  crabbes  sour. 
And  ships  sail  on  dry  land,  silt  give  flower, 

And  apes   in  Westminster  give    judgment    and 
sentence, 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 

THE    CLOWN'S    COURTSHIP. 
(Anon.) 

Quoth  John  to  Joan,  will  thou  have  me  ; 
I  prithee  now,  wilt  ?  and  I'll  marry  thee, 
My  cow,  my  calf,  my  house,  my  rents. 
And  all  my  lands  and  tenements  : 

Oh,  say,  my  Joan,  will  not  that  do  ? 

I  cannot  come  every  day  to  woo. 

I've  corn  and  hay  in  the  barn  hardby. 
And  three  fat  hogs  pent  up  in  the  sty, 
I  have  a  mare  and  she  is  coal  black, 
I  ride  on  her  tail  to  save  my  back. 

Then  say,  etc. 
I  have  a  cheese  upon  the  shelf, 
And  I  cannot  eat  it  all  myself; 
I've  three  good  marks  that  lie  in  a  rag. 
In  a  nook  of  the  chimney,  instead  of  a  bag. 

Then  say,  etc. 
To  marry  I  would  have  thy  consent. 
But  faith  I  never  could  compliment ; 
I  can  say  nought  but  "  Hoy,  gee  ho  I  " 
Words  that  belong  to  the  cart  and  the  plough. 
So  say,  my  Joan,  will  not  that  do, 
I  cannot  come  every  day  to  woo. 


6o  Humotous  Verse 

A  NEW  COURTLY  SONNET,  OF  THE 
LADY  GREENSLEEVES,  TO  THE  NEW 
TUNE  OF  "GREENSLEEVES." 

GREENSLEEVES  was  all  my  joy, 
Greensleeves  was  my  delight : 

Greensleeves  was  my  hart  of  gold. 
And  who  but  Lady  Greensleeves. 

Alas,  my  love,  ye  do  me  wrong, 
To  cast  me  oiT  discourteously  : 

And  I  have  loved  you  so  long, 
Delighting  in  your  company  I 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

I  have  been  ready  at  your  hand, 

To  grant  whatever  you  would  crave  : 

I  have  both  waged  life  and  land. 
Your  love  and  good-will  for  to  have. 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

I  bought  three  kerchers  to  thy  head, 
That  were  wrought  fine  and  gallantly  : 

I  kept  thee,  both  at  board  and  bed, 
Which  cost  my  purse  well-favour'dly. 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

I  bought  thee  petticoats  of  the  best. 
The  cloth  so  fine  as  fine  might  be  : 

I  gave  thee  jewels  for  thy  chest ; 
And  all  this  cost  I  spent  on  thee. 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

Thy  smock  of  silk  both  fair  and  white, 
With  gold  embroidei-'d  gorgeously  : 

Thy  petticoat  of  sendall  right ; 
And  this  I  bought  thee  gladly. 
Greensleeves,  etc. 


Humofoos  Verse  6t 

Thy  girdle  of  gold  so  red, 

With  pearls  bedecked  sumptuously, 
The  like  no  other  lasses  had  : 

And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

Thy  purse,  and  eke  thy  gay  gilt  knives, 
Thy  pin-case,  gallant  to  the  eye  : 

No  better  wore  the  burgess'  wives  : 
And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

Thy  crimson  stockings,  all  of  silk, 

With  gold  all  wrought  above  the  knee  ; 

Thy  pumps,  as  white  as  was  the  milk  : 
And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

Thy  gown  was  of  the  grassy  green. 
Thy  sleeves  of  satin  hanging  by  ; 
Which  made  thee  be  our  harvest  queen  : 
And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 
Thy  garters  fringed  with  the  gold, 
And  silver  aglets*  hanging  by  ; 
Which  made  thee  blithe  for  to  behold  : 
And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 
My  gayest  gelding  I  thee  gave, 
To  ride  wherever  liked  thee  : 
No  lady  ever  was  so  brave  : 

And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 
My  men  were  clothed  all  in  green, 
And  they  did  ever  wait  on  thee  ; 
All  this  was  gallant  to  be  seen  : 
And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

*  Aiguillcttes. 


62  Humorous  Verse 

They  set  thee  up,  they  took  thee  down, 
They  serv'd  thee  with  humiUty  ; 

Thy  foot  might  not  once  touch  the  ground : 
And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  I 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

For  every  morning,  when  thou  rose, 

I  sent  thee  dainties,  orderly  ; 
To  cheer  thy  stomach  from  all  woes  : 

And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc 

Thou  couldst  desire  no  earthly  thing, 
But  still  thou  hadst  it  readily. 

Thy  music,  still  to  play  and  sing  : 
And  yet  thou  wouldest  not  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

And  who  did  pay  for  all  this  gear. 
That  thou  didst  spend  when  pleased  thee  ? 

Even  I  that  am  rejected  here, 
And  thou  disdainest  to  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

Well !  I  will  pray  to  God  on  high. 
That  thou  my  constancy  mayst  see, 

And  that,  yet  once  before  I  die. 
Thou  wilt  vouchsafe  to  love  me  ! 
Greensleeves,  etc. 

Greensleeves,  now  farewell  !  adieu  ! 

God  I  pray  to  prosper  thee  I 
For  I  am  still  thy  lover  true  : 

Come  once  again  and  love  me !  v 

Greensleeves,  etc 


Humorous  Verse  63 

NO   FAULT   IN   WOMEN. 

By  Robert  Herrick. 

No  fault  in  women,  to  refuse 

The  offer  which  they  most  would  choose. 

No  fault  in  women  to  confess 

How  tedious  they  are  in  their  dress  ; 

No  fault  in  women,  to  lay  on 

The  tincture  of  vermilion, 

And  there  to  give  the  cheek  a  dye 

Of  white,  where  Nature  doth  deny. 

No  fault  in  women,  to  make  show 

Of  largeness,  when  they've  nothing  so  ; 

When,  true  it  is,  the  outside  swells 

With  inward  buckram,  little  else. 

No  fault  in  woman,  though  they  be 

But  seldom  from  suspicion  free  ; 

No  fault  in  womankind  at  all, 

If  they  but  slip,  and  never  fall. 

VALERIUS  ON  WOMEN. 
By  Thomas  Heywood. 

She  that  denies  me  I  would  have, 

Who  craves  me  I  despise  : 
Venus  hath  power  to  rule  mine  heart, 

But  not  to  please  mine  eyes. 

Temptations  offered  I  still  scorn  ; 

Denied,  I  cling  them  still ; 
I'll  neither  glut  mine  appetite, 

Nor  seek  to  starve  my  will. 

Diana,  double-clothed,  offends. 

So  Venus,  naked  quite  : 
The  last  begets  a  surfeit,  and 

The  other  no  delight. 


64  Humorous  Verse 

That  crafty  girl  shall  please  me  best, 
That  no,  for  yea,  can  say. 

And  every  wanton  willing  kiss 
Can  season  with  a  nay. 


THE  CHRONICLE.     A  BALLAD. 

By  Abraham  Cowley. 

Margarita  first  possess'd. 
If  I  remember  well,  my  breast, 

Margarita,  first  of  all ; 
But  when  a  while  the  wanton  maid 
With  my  restless  heart  had  play'd, 

Martha  took  the  flying  ball. 

Martha  soon  did  it  resign 
To  the  beauteous  Catharine. 

Beauteous  Catharine  gave  place 
(Though  loth  and  angry  she  to  part 
With  the  possession  of  my  heart) 

To  Eliza's  conquering  face. 

Eliza  till  this  hour  might  reign, 
Had  she  not  evil  counsel  ta'en  : 

Fundamental  laws  she  broke. 
And  still  new  favourites  she  chose, 
Till  up  in  arms  my  passions  rose. 

And  cast  away  her  yoke. 

Mary  then,  and  gentle  Ann, 
Both  to  reign  at  once  began, 

Alternately  they  swayed  : 
And  sometimes  Mary  was  the  fair, 
And  sometimes  Anne  the  crown  did  wear, 

And  sometimes  both  I  obey'd. 


Hamorous  Verse  65 

Another  Mary  then  arose, 
And  did  rigorous  laws  impose  ; 

A  mighty  tyrant  she  ! 
Long,  alas,  should  I  have  been 
Under  that  iron-scepter'd  queen, 

Had  not  Rebecca  set  me  free. 

When  fair  Rebecca  set  me  free, 
'Twas  then  a  golden  time  with  me, 

But  soon  those  pleasures  fled  ; 
For  the  gracious  princess  died 
In  her  youth  and  beauty's  pride. 

And  Judith  reigned  in  her  stead. 

One  month,  three  days,  and  half  an  hour, 
Judith  held  the  sovereign  power. 

Wondrous  beautiful  her  face  ; 
But  so  weak  and  small  her  wit, 
That  she  to  govern  was  unfit. 

And  so  Susanna  took  her  place 
But  when  Isabella  came, 
Arm'd  with  a  resistless  flame. 

And  th'  artillery  of  her  eye  ; 
Whilst  she  proudly  march'd  about 
Greater  conquests  to  find  out : 

She  beat  out  Susan  by  the  bye. 
But  in  her  place  I  then  obey'd 
Black-ey'd  Bess,  her  viceroy  maid, 

To  whom  ensued  a  vacancy  : 
Thousand  worse  passions  then  possess'd 
The  interregnum  of  my  breast ; 

Bless  me  from  such  an  anarchy. 
Gentle  Henrietta  then. 
And  a  third  Mary  next  began  ; 

Then  Joan,  and  Jane,  and  Andria  : 
And  then  a  pretty  Thomasine, 
And  then  another  Catharine, 

And  then  a  long  et  caetera. 

F 


66  Humorous  Verse 

But  should  I  now  to  you  relate 

The  strength  and  riches  of  their  state, 

The  powder,  patches,  and  the  pins, 
The  ribbons,  jewels,  and  the  rings, 
The  lace,  the  paint,  and  warlike  things, 

That  make  up  all  their  magazines  : 

If  I  should  tell  the  politic  arts 
To  take  and  keep  men's  hearts  ; 

The  letters,  embassies,  and  spies, 
The  frowns,  and  smiles,  and  flatteries. 
The  quarrels,  tears,  and  perjuries, 

Numberless,  nameless,  mysteries  ! 

And  all  the  little  lime-twigs  laid 
By  Machiavel,  the  waiting  maid  ; 

I  more  voluminous  should  grow 
(Chiefly  if  I,  like  them,  should  tell 
All  change  of  weather  that  befel) 

Than  Holinshed  or  Stow. 

But  I  will  briefer  with  them  be, 
Since  few  of  them  were  long  with  me  : 

An  higher  and  a  nobler  strain 
My  present  emperess  does  claim, 
Eleonora,  first  o'  th'  name, 

Whom  God  grant  long  to  reign. 


THE    WAY    TO   KNOW  A    DAINTY 

DAPPER   WENCH. 

By  Thomas  Heywood. 

Lei'  her  eye  be  clear,  and  her  brow  severe, 

Her  eyebrows  thin  and  fine  ; 
But  if  she  be  a  punk,  and  love  to  be  drunk 

Then  keep  her  still  from  the  wine. 

Let  her  stature  be  mean,  and  her  body  clean, 
Thou  can'st  not  choose  but  like  her ; 


Humorous  Verse  6? 

But  see  she  ha'  good  clothes,  with  a  fair  Roman  nose, 
For  that's  the  sign  of  a  striker. 

Let  her  legs  be  small  but  not  used  to  sprawl, 
Her  tongue  not  too  loud  nor  cocket ; 

Let  her  arms  be  strong  and  her  fingers  long, 
But  not  used  to  dive  in  pocket. 

Let  her  body  be  long,  and  her  back  be  strong, 

With  a  soft  lip  that  entangles, 
With  an  ivory  breast,  and  hair  well  dressed 

Without  gold  lace  or  spangles. 


JOHN  GRUMLIE. 

By  Allan  Cunningham. 

John  Grumlie  swore  by  the  light  o'  the  moon 

And  the  green  leaves  on  the  tree, 
That  he  could  do  more  work  in  a  day 

Than  his  wife  could  do  in  three. 
His  wife  rose  up  in  the  morning 

Wi'  cares  and  troubles  enow — 
John  Grumlie  bide  at  hame,  John, 

And  I'll  go  baud  the  plow. 

First  ye  maun  dress  your  children^fair, 

And  put  them  a'  in  their  gear ; 
And  ye  maun  turn  the  malt,  John, 

Or  else  ye'll  spoil  the  beer  ; 
And  ye  maun  reel  the  tweel,  John, 

That  I  span  yesterday  ; 
And  ye  maun  ca'  in  the  hens,  John, 

Else  they'll  all  lay  away. 

O  he  did  dress  his  children  fair. 

And  put  them  a'  in  their  gear  ; 
But  he  forgot  to  turn  the  malt, 

And  so  he  spoil'd  the  beer  : 


68  Humorous  Verse 

And  he  sang  loud  as  he  reeled  the  tweel 

That  his  wife  span  yesterday  ; 
But  he  forgot  to  put  up  the  hens, 

And  the  hens  all  layed  away. 

The  hawket  crummie*  loot  down  nae  milk  ; 

He  kirned,  nor  butter  gat  ; 
And  a'  gade  wrang,  and  nought  gade  right ; 

He  danced  with  rage,  and  grat ; 
Then  up  he  ran  to  the  head  o'  the  knowe 

Wi'  mony  a  wave  and  shout — 
She  heard  him  as  she  heard  him  not, 

And  steered  the  stots  about. 

John  Grumlie's  wife  cam  haine  at  e'en, 

A  weary  wife  and  sad. 
And  burst  into  a  laughter  loud. 

And  laughed  as  she'd  been  mad  : 
While  John  Grumlie  swore  by  the  light  o'  the 
moon  ». 

And  the  green  leaves  on  the  tree, 
If  my  wife  should  na  win  a  penny  a  day 

She's  aye  have  her  will  for  me. 


CAPTAIN    WEDDERBURN'S    COURTSHIR 
(Anon.) 

The  Laird  of  Roslin's  daughter 

Walk'd  through  the  wood  her  lane  ; 
And  by  cam  Captain  Wedderburn, 

A  servant  to  the  king. 
He  said  unto  his  serving  man, 

"  Were't  not  against  the  law, 
I  wad  tak  her  to  my  ain  bed. 

And  lay  her  neist  the  wa'." 

*  Cow  with  a  crumpled  horn. 


Humorous  Verse  69 

"  I  am  walking  here  alane,"  she  says, 

"Among  my  father's  trees; 
And  you  must  let  me  walk  alone, 

Kind  sir,  now,  if  you  please  : 
The  supper  bell  it  will  be  rung, 

And  I'll  be  miss'd  awa  ; 
Sae  I  winna  lie  in  your  bed, 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'." 

He  says,  "  My  pretty  lady, 

I  pray,  lend  me  your  hand. 
And  ye'll  hae  drums  and  trumpets 

Always  at  your  command  ; 
And  fifty  men  to  guard  you  with. 

That  well  their  swords  can  draw ; 
Sae  we'se  baith  lie  in  ae  bed. 

And  ye'se  lie  neist  the  wa'." 

"  Haud  awa  frae  me,"  she  said, 

"  And  pray  let  gae  my  hand  : 
The  supper  bell  it  will  be  rung, 

I  can  nae  langer  stand. 
My  father  he  will  angry  be 

Gin  I  be  miss'd  awa  ; 
Sae  I'll  nae  lie  in  your  bed. 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'." 

Then  said  the  pretty  lady, 

"  I  pray  tell  me  your  name  ?" 
"  My  name  is  Captain  Wedderburn, 

A  servant  to  the  king. 
Though  thy  father  and  his  men  were  here, 

O'  them  I'd  have  nae  awe  ; 
But  wad  tak  you  to  my  ain  bed. 

And  lay  you  neist  the  wa'." 

He  lichtit  aff  his  milk-white  steed. 
And  set  this  lady  on  ; 


7°  Humorous  Verse 

And  a'  the  way  he  walk'd  on  foot, 
He  held  her  by  the  hand. 

He  held  her  by  the  middle  jimp, 
For  fear  that  she  should  fa'. 

To  tak  her  to  his  ain  bed, 
And  lay  her  neist  the  wa'. 

He  took  her  to  his  lodging-house  ; 

His  landlady  looked  ben  : 
Says,  "  Mony  a  pretty  lady 

In  Edinbruch  I've  seen  ; 
But  sic  a  lovely  face  as  thine 

In  it  I  never  saw  ; 
Gae  mak  her  down  a  down-bed 

And  lay  her  at  the  wa'." 

"  Oh  haud  away  frae  me,"  she  says  ; 

"  I  pray  you  let  me  be  ; 
I  winna  gang  into  your  bed 

Till  ye  dress  me  dishes  three  : 
Dishes  three  ye  maun  dress  me, 

Gin  I  should  eat  them  a', 
Afore  that  I  lie  in  your  bed. 

Either  at  stock  or  wa' 

"  It's  ye  maun  get  to  my  supper 

A  cherry  without  a  stane  ; 
And  ye  maun  get  to  my  supper 

A'chicken  without  a  bane  ; 
And  ye  maun  get  to  my  supper 

A  bird  without  a  ga' ; 
Or  I  winna  lie  in  your  bed, 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'." 

"  It's  when  the  cherry  is  in  the  blume, 
I'm  sure  it  has  nae  stane  ; 

And  when  the  chicken's  in  the  egg, 
I  wat  it  has  nae  bane  ; 


Humofous  Verse  7^ 

And,  sin'  the  flood  o'  Noah, 

The  doo  she  had  nae  ga' ; 
Sae  we'll  baith  lie  in  ae  bed, 

And  ye'se  lie  neist  the  wa'." 

"Oh  haud  your  tongue,  young  man,"  she  says, 

"  Nor  that  gate  me  perplex  ; 
For  ye  maun  tell  me  questions  yet, 

And  that  is  questions  six  : 
Questions  six  ye'll  tell  to  me, 

And  that  is  three  times  twa, 
Afore  I  lie  in  your  bed, 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'. 

"  What's  greener  than  the  greenest  grass  ? 

What's  hicher  than  the  trees  ? 
What's  waur  nor  an  ill  woman's  wish  ? 

What's  deeper  than  the  seas  ? 
What  bird  sings  first  ?  and  whereupon 

First  doth  the  dew  down  fa'  ? 
Ye  sail  tell  afore  I  lay  me  doun. 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'." 

"  Vergris  is  greener  than  the  grass ; 

Heavens  hicher  than  the  trees ; 
The  deil's  waur  nor  a  woman's  wish  ; 

Hell's  deeper  than  the  seas  ; 
The  cock  crows  first ;  on  cedar  tap 

The  dew  down  first  doth  fa' ; 
Sae  we'll  baith  lie  in  ae  bed. 

And  ye'se  lie  neist  the  wa'." 

"  Oh  haud  your  tongue,  young  man,"  she  says, 

"And  gie  your  fleechin  ower; 
Unless  ye  find  me  ferlies,  ^ 

And  that  is  ferlies  four  ; 
Ferlies  four  ye  maun  find  me, 

And  thai  is  twa  and  twa  ; 


72  Humorous  Verse 

Or  I'll  never  lie  in  your  bed, 
Either  at  stock  or  wa'. 

"  It's  ye  maun  get  to  me  a  plum 

That  in  December  grew  ; 
And  ye  maun  get  a  silk  mantel, 

That  waft  was  ne'er  ca'd  through  ; 
A  sparrow's  horn  ;  a  priest  unborn. 

This  night  to  join  us  twa ; 
Or  I'll  nae  lie  in  your  bed, 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'." 

"  My  father  he  has  winter  fruit, 

That  in  December  grew  ; 
My  mother  has  an  Indian  gown, 

That  waft  was  ne'er  ca'd  through. 
A  sparrow's  horn  is  quickly  found 

There's  ane  on  every  claw, 
And  twa  upon  the  neb  o'  him  ; 

And  ye  shall  get  them  a'. 

"  The  priest,  he's  standing  at  the  door. 

Just  ready  to  come  in  ; 
Nae  man  can  say  that  he  was  born, 

Nae  man,  unless  he  sin  ; 
A  wild  boar  tore  his  mother's  side, 

He  out  o'  it  did  fa' ; 
Sae  we'll  baith  lie  in  ae  bed. 

And  ye'll  lie  neist  the  wa'." 

Little  kenn'd  Girzie  Sinclair, 

That  morning  when  she  rase. 
That  this  wad  be  the  hindermost 

O'  a'  her  maiden  days. 
But  now  there's  no  within  the  realm. 

I  think  a  blyther  twa  ; 
And  they  baith  lie  in  ae  bed. 

And  she  lies  neist  the  wa'. 


Humorous  Verse  73 

THE    JOYS    OF    MARRIAGE. 

By  Charles  Cotton. 

How  uneasy  is  his  life, 
Who  is  troubled  with  a  wife  ! 
Be  she  ne'er  so  fair  or  comely, 
Be  she  ne'er  so  foul  or  homelj', 
Be  she  ne'er  so  young  and  toward, 
Be  she  ne'er  so  old  and  froward, 
Be  she  kind,  with  arms  enfolding, 
Be  she  cross,  and  always  scolding, 
Be  she  blithe  or  melancholy, 
Have  she  wit,  or  have  she  folly, 
Be  she  wary,  be  she  squandering. 
Be  she  staid,  or  be  she  wandering. 
Be  she  constant,  be  she  fickle. 
Be  she  fire,  or  be  she  ickle  ; 
Be  she  pious  or  ungodly, 
Be  she  chaste,  or  what  sounds  oddly : 
Lastly,  be  she  good  or  evil, 
Be  she  saint,  or  be  she  devil, — 
Yet,  uneasy  is  his  life 
Who  is  married  to  a  wife. 


MARRIAGE  AND  THE  CARE  O'T. 

By  Robert  Lochore. 

Quoth  Rab  to  Kate,  My  sonsy  dear, 
I've  woo'd  ye  mair  than  ha'  a-year, 
An'  if  ye'd  wed  me  ne'er  cou'd  speer, 

Wi'  blateness,  an'  the  care  o't. 
Now  to  the  point  :  sincere  I'm  wi't  : 
Will  ye  be  my  ha'f-marrow,  sweet  ? 
Shake  ban's,  and  say  a  bargain  be't 

An'  ne'er  think  on  the  care  o't. 


74  Humofoos  Verse 

Na,  na,  quo'  Kate,  I  winna  wed, 
O'  sic  a  snare  I'll  aye  be  rede  ; 
How  mony,  thochtless,  are  misled 

By  marriage,  an'  the  care  o't  ! 
A  single  life's  a  life  o'  glee, 
A  wife  ne'er  think  to  mak'  o'  me, 
Frae  toil  an'  sorrow  I'll  keep  free, 

An'  a'  the  dool  an'  care  o't. 

Weel,  weel,  said  Robin,  in  reply. 
Ye  ne'er  again  shall  me  deny, 
Ye  may  a  toothless  maiden  die 

For  me,  I'll  tak'  nae  care  o't. 
Fareweel  for  ever  ! — aff  I  hie  ; — 
Sae  took  his  leave  without  a  sigh  ; 
Oh  !  stop,  quo'  Kate,  I'm  yours,  I'll  try 

The  married  life,  an'  care  o't. 

Rab  wheel't  about,  to  Kate  cam'  back, 
An'  ga'e  her  mou'  a  hearty  smack, 
Syne  lengthen'd  out  a  lovin'  crack 

'Bout  marriage  an'  the  care  o't. 
Though  as  she  thocht  she  didna  speak, 
An'  lookit  unco  mim  an'  meek, 
Yet  blythe  was  she  wi'  Rab  to  cleek, 

In  marriage,  wi'  the  care  o't. 


A  WEDDING. 

By  Sir  John  Suckling. 

I  TELL  thee,  Dick,  where  I  have  been  ; 
Where  I  the  rarest  things  have  seen  ; 

Oh,  things  without  compare  ! 
Such  sights  again  can  not  be  found 

In  any  place  on  English  ground, 

Be  it  at  wake  or  fair. 


Humorous  Verse  75 

At  Charing  Cross,  hard  by  the  way 
Where  we  (thou  know'st)  do  sell  our  hay, 

There  is  a  house  with  stairs  ; 
And  there  did  I  see  corning  down 
Such  folks  as  are  not  in  our  town  ; 

Vorty  at  least,  in  pairs. 

Amongst  the  rest  one  pest'lent  fine 
(His  beard  no  bigger  tho'  than  thine) 

Walk'd  on  before  the  rest  ; 
Our  landlord  looks  like  nothing  to  him  ; 
The  King  (God  bless  him  !)  'twould  undo  him 

Should  he  go  still  so  drest. 

At  Course-a-park,  without  all  doubt, 
He  should  have  first  been  taken  out 

By  all  the  maids  i'  th'  town  : 
Though  lusty  Roger  there  had  been, 
Or  little  George  upon  the  green, 

Or  Vincent  of  the  crown. 

But  wot  you  what  ?    The  youth  was  going 
To  make  an  end  of  all  his  woing ; 

The  parson  for  him  staid  : 
Yet  by  his  leave,  for  all  his  haste. 
He  did  not  so  much  wish  all  past, 

Perchance  as  did  the  maid. 

The  maid  (and  thereby  hangs  a  tale) 
For  such  a  maid  no  Whitson-ale 

Could  ever  yet  produce  ; 
No  grape  that's  kindly  ripe,  could  be 
So  round,  so  plump,  so  soft,  as  she 

Nor  half  so  full  of  juyce.  ' 

Her  finger  was  so  small,  the  ring 
Would  not  stay  on  which  they  did  bring ; 

It  was  too  wide  a  peck  : 
And,  to  say  truth  (for  out  it  must). 


76  Humorous  Verse 

It  look'd  like  the  great  collar  (just) 
About  our  young  colt's  neck. 

Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat, 
Like  little  mice,  stole  in  and  out, 

As  if  they  fear'd  the  light  : 
But  oh  !  she  dances  such  a  way  ; 
No  sun  upon  an  Easter  day 

Is  half  so  fine  a  sight. 

Her  cheeks  so  rare  a  white  was  on, 
No  daisie  makes  comparison 

(Who  sees  them  is  undone) ; 
For  streaks  of  red  were  mingled  there, 
Such  as  are  on  a  Cath'rine  pear, 

The  side  that's  next  the  Sun. 

Her  lips  were  red  ;  and  one  was  thin, 
Compared  to  that  was  next  her  chin 

(Some  bee  had  stung  it  newly) ; 
But,  Dick,  her  eyes  so  guard  her  face, 
I  durst  no  more  upon  them  gaze. 

Than  on  a  Sun  in  July. 

Her  mouth  so  small,  when  she  does  speak, 
Thou'dst  swear  her  teeth  her  words  did  break, 

That  they  might  passage  get ; 
But  she  so  handled  still  the  matter, 
They  came  as  good  as  ours,  or  better, 

And  are  not  spent  a  whit. 

Passion,  oh  me  !  how  I  run  on  ! 
There's  that  that  would  be  thought  upon, 

I  trow,  besides  the  bride. 
The  business  of  the  kitchen's  great  ; 
For  it  is  fit  that  men  should  eat. 

Nor  was  it  there  denied. 


Humorous  Verse  77 

Just  in  the  nick  the  Cook  knock'd  thrice, 
And  all  the  waiters  in  a  trice 

His  summons  did  obey  ; 
Each  serving  man,  with  dish  in  hand, 
March'd  boldly  up  like  our  train'd  band, 

Presented,  and  away. 


When  all  the  meat  was  on  the  table, 
What  man  of  knife,  or  teeth,  was  able 

To  stay  to  be  entreated  ? 
And  this  the  very  reason  was. 
Before  the  parson  could  say  grace 

The  company  was  seated. 


Now  hats  fly  off",  and  youths  carouse  ; 
Healths  first  go  round,  and  then  the  house. 

The  bride's  came  thick  and  thick  ; 
And  when  'twas  named  another's  health. 
Perhaps  he  made  it  hers  by  stealth, 

(And  who  could  help  it,  Dick  ?) 


O'  th'  sudden,  up  they  rise  and  dance  ; 
Then  sit  again,  and  sigh,  and  glance  : 

Then  dance  again,  and  kiss  : 
Thus  sev'ral  ways  the  time  did  pass. 
Till  ev'ry  woman  wish'd  her  place, 

And  ev'ry  man  wish'd  his. 


By  this  time  all  were  stol'n  aside 
To  counsel  and  undress  the  bride ; 

But  that  he  must  not  know  : 
But  yet  'twas  thought  he  guest  her  mind. 
And  did  not  mean  to  stay  behind 

Above  an  hour  or  so. 


7^  Humorous  Verse 

BUXOM     JOAN. 

By  William  Congreve. 

A  SOLDIER  and  a  sailor, 

A  tinker  and  a  tailor, 

Had  once  a  doubtful  strife,  sir, 

To  make  a  maid  a  wife,  sir, 

Whose  name  was  Buxom  Joan. 
For  now  the  time  was  ended, 
When  she  no  more  intended 
To  lick  her  lips  at  men,  sir, 
And  gnaw  the  sheets  in  vain,  sir, 

And  lie  o'  nights  alone. 

The  soldier  swore  like  thunder. 
He  loved  her  more  than  plunder; 
And  showed  her  many  a  scar,  sir. 
That  he  had  brought  from  far,  sir, 

With  fighting  for  her  sake. 
The  tailor  thought  to  please  her. 
With  offering  her  his  measure. 
The  tinker  too  with  mettle. 
Said  he  could  mend  her  kettle, 

And  stop  up  every  leak. 

But  while  these  three  were  prating, 
The  sailor  slily  waiting. 
Thought  if  it  came  about,  sir, 
That  they  should  all  fall  out,  sir, 

He  then  might  play  his  part. 
And  just  e'en  as  he  meant,  sir, 
To  loggerheads  they  went,  sir. 
And  then  he  let  fly  at  her 
A  shot  'twixt  wind  and  water. 

That  won  this  fair  maid's  heart. 


I 


Humorous  Verse  79 

A   GENTLE    ECHO    ON   WOMAN. 

In  the  Doric  manner. 

By  Dean  Swift. 

Shepherd.  ECHO,  I  ween,  will  in  the  wood  reply, 

And  quaintly  answer  questions  :  shall  I  try  ? 
Echo.  Try. 

Shep.  What  must  we  do  our  passion  to  express  ? 
Echo.  Press. 

Shep.  How  shall  I  please  her,  who  ne'er  loved 

before  ? 
Echo.  Be  Fore. 

Shep.  What  most  moves  women  when  we  them 

address  ? 
Echo.  A  dress. 

Shep.  Say,  what  can  keep  her  chaste  whom  I 

adore  ? 
Echo.  A  door. 

Shep.  If  music  softens  rocks,  love  tunes  my  lyre. 
Echo.  Liar. 

Shep.  Then  teach  me.  Echo,  how  shall  I  come  by 

her? 
Echo.  Buy  her. 

Shep.  When  bought,  no  question  I  shall  be  her 

dear  ? 
Echo.  Her  deer. 

Shep.  But  deer  have  horns  :  how  must  I  keep  her 

under  ? 
Echo.  Keep  her  under. 

Shep.  But  what  can  glad  me  when  she's  laid  on 

bier? 
Echo.  Beer. 

Shep.  What  must  I  do  when  women  will  be  kmd  ? 
Echo.  Be  kind. 

Shep.  What  must  I  do  when  women  will  be  cross? 
Echo.  Be  cross. 


8o  Humorous  Verse 

Shep.  Lord,  what  is  she  that  can  so  turn  and  wind? 
Echo.  Wind. 

Shep.  If  she  be  wind,  what  stills  her  when  she 

blows  ? 
Echo.  Blows. 

Shep.  But  if  she  bang  again,  still  should  I  bang 

her? 
Echo.  Bang  her. 

Shep.  Is  there  no  way  to  moderate  her  anger? 
Echo.  Hang  her. 

Shep.  1  hanks,  gentle  Echo!  right  thy  answers  tell 
What  woman  is  and  how  to  guard  her  well. 
Echo.  Guard  her  well. 


BEHAVE  YOURSEL'  BEFORE  FOLK. 

By  Alexander  Rodger. 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
And  dinna  be  sae  rude  to  me. 
As  kiss  me  sae  before  folk. 

It  wadna  gi'e  me  meikle  pain. 
Gin  we  were  seen  and  heard  by  nane. 
To  tak'  a  kiss,  or  grant  you  ane  ; 
But  guidsake  !  no  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk ; 
Whate'er  ye  do,  when  out  o'  view. 
Be  cautious  aye  before  folk. 

Consider,  lad,  how  folk  will  crack. 
And  what  a  great  affair  they'll  mak' 
O'  naething  but  a  simple  smack. 
That's  gi'en  or  ta'en  before  folk. 


'i 
Humorous  Verse  8i 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk  ; 
Nor  gi'e  the  tongue  o'  auld  or  young 
Occasion  to  come  o'er  folk. 

It's  no  through  hatred  o'  a  kiss, 
That  I  sae  plainly  tell  you  this  ; 
But,  losh  !  I  tak'  it  sair  amiss 
To  be  sae  teazed  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk ; 
When  we're  our  lane  ye  may  tak'  ane, 
But  fient  a  ane  before  folk. 

I'm  sure  wi'  you  I've  been  as  free 
As  ony  modest  lass  should  be  ; 
But  yet  it  doesna  do  to  see 
Sic  freedom  used  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk ; 
I'll  ne'er  submit  again  to  it — 
So  mind  you  that — before  folk. 

Ye  tell  me  that  my  face  is  fair ; 
It  may  be  sae — I  dinna  care — 
But  ne'er  again  gar't  blush  sae  sair 
As  ye  ha'e  done  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk ; 
Nor  heat  my  cheeks  wi'  your  mad  freaks, 
But  aye  be  douce  before  folk. 
Ye  tell  me  that  my  lips  are  sweet, 
Sic  tales,  I  doubt,  are  a'  deceit ; 
At  ony  rate,  it's  hardly  meet 
To  pree  their  sweets  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk  ; 
Gin  that's  the  case,  there's  time,  and  place, 
But  surely  no  before  folk. 

G 


82  Humorous  Verse 

But,  gin  you  really  do  insist 
That  I  should  suffer  to  be  kiss'd, 
Gae,  get  a  license  frae  the  priest, 
And  male'  me  yours  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk  ; 
And  when  we're  ane,  baith  flesh  and  bane, 
Ye  may  tak'  ten — before  folk. 


WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG  LASSIE. 
By  Robert  Burns. 

What  can  a  young  lassie,  what  shall  a  young 
lassie, 
What  can  a  young  lassie  do  wi'  an  auld  man  ? 
Bad  luck  on  the  penny  that  tempted  my  minnie* 
To  sell  her  poor  Jenny  for  siller  an'  Ian' ! 

Bad   luck   on   the   penny   that    tempted    my 
minnie 
To  sell.her  poor  Jenny  for  siller  ian'  Ian' ! 

He's  always  compleenin'  frae  morning  to  e'ening'. 
He  hoastst  an'  he  hirplesj  the  weary  day  lang ; 
He's  doyrt§  an'  he's  dozin',  his  bluid  it  is  frozen, 
Oh,  dreary's  the  night  wi'  a  crazy  auld  man  ! 
He's   doyl't  an'   he's   dozin',   his   bluid   it   is 
frozen, 
Oh,  dreary's  the  night  wi'  a  crazy  auld  man  ! 

He  hums  an'  he  hankers,  he  frets  an'  he  cankers, 

I  never  can  please  him,  do  a'  that  I  can  ; 
He's  peevish  an'  jealous  of  a'  the  young  fellows  : 
Oh,  dool  on  the  day  I  met  wi'  an  auld  man  I 
He's    peevish   an'  jealous  of   a'   the    young 
.    fellows : 
Oh,  dool  on  the  day  I  met  wi'  an  auld  man  ! 

•  Mother.         t  Coughs.  t  Limps.         ?  Stupid. 


Humorous  Verse  83 

My  auld  auntie  Katie  upon  me  tak's  pity, 

I'll  do  my  endeavour  to  follow  her  plan  ; 
I'll  cross  him,  an'  wrack  him,  until  I  heart-break 
him, 
An'  then  his  auld  brass  will  buy  me  a  new  pan. 
I'll  cross  him,  and  wrack  him,  until  I  heart- 
break him, 
An'  then  his  auld  brass  will  buy  me  a  new 
pan. 


AN    ELEGY 

On  the  Glory  of  her  Sex,  Mrs.  Mary  Blaise. 

By  Oliver  Goldsmith. 

Good  people  all,  with  one  accord. 

Lament  for  Madam  Blaize, 
Who  never  wanted  a  good  word — 

From  those  who  spoke  her  praise. 

The  needy  seldom  pass'd  her  door, 

And  always  found  her  kind  ; 
She  freely  lent  to  all  the  poor — 

Who  left  a  pledge  behind. 

She  strove  the  neighbourhood  to  please 
With  manners  wondrous  winning  ; 

And  never  follow'd  wicked  ways — 
Unless  when  she  was  sinning. 

At  church,  in  silks  and  satins  new 

With  hoop  of  monstrous  size, 
She  never  slumber'd  in  her  pew — 

But  when  she  shut  her  eyes. 

Her  love  was  sought,  I  do  aver, 

By  twenty  beaux  and  more  ; 
The  King  himself  has  follow'd  her — 

When  she  has  walk'd  before. 


84  Humorous  Verse 

But  now,  her  wealth  and  finery  fled, 
Her  hangers-on  cut  short  all  ; 

The  doctors  found,  when  she  was  dead — 
Her  last  disorder  mortal. 

Let  us  lament,  in  sorrow  sore. 
For  Kent  Street  well  may  say, 

That  had  she  lived  a  twelvemonth  more — 
She  had  not  died  to-day. 

WHISTLE  O'ER  THE  LAVE  O'T. 

By  Robert  Burns. 

First  when  Maggie  was  my  care. 
Heaven  I  thought  was  in  her  air ; 
Now  we're  married — spier  nae  mair — 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave'o't. 
Meg  was  meek,  an'  Meg  was  mild, 
Bonnie  Meg  was  nature's  child  ; 
Wiser  men  than  me's  beguil'd — 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't. 

How  we  live,  my  Meg  an'  me, 
How  we  love,  an'  how  we  'gree, 
I  care  na  by  how  few  may  see — 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't. 
Wha  I  wish  were  maggots'  meat, 
Dish'd  up  in  her  winding  sheet, 
I  could  write — but  Meg  maun  see't — 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't. 

ROBIN  TAMSON'S  SMIDDY. 
By  Alexander  Rodger. 

My  mither  men't  my  auld  breeks, 
An'  wow  !  but  they  were^duddy, 

And  sent  me  to  get  M  ally!  shod 
At  Robin  Tamson's  smiddy  ; 


Humorous  Verse  85 

The  smiddy  stands  beside  the  burn 
That  wimples  through  the  clachan, 

I  never  yet  gae  by  the  door, 
But  aye  I  fa'  a-laughin'. 

For  Robin  was  a  walthy  carle, 

An'  had  ae  bonnie  dochter, 
Yet  ne'er  wad  let  her  tak'  a  man, 

Though  mony  lads  had  sought  her 
And  what  think  ye  o'  my  exploit  ? — 

The  time  our  mare  was  shoeing, 
I  slippit  up  beside  the  lass, 

An'  briskly  fell  a-wooing. 

An'  aye  she  e'ed  my  auld  breeks, 

The  time  that  we  sat  crackin'. 
Quo'  I,  my  lass,  ne'er  mind  the  clouts, 

I've  new  anes  for  the  makin' ; 
But  gin  ye'll  just  come  hame  wi'  me. 

An'  lea'  the  carle,  your  father, 
Ye'se  get  my  breeks  to  keep  in  trim, 

MyseP,  an'  a'  thegither. 

'Deed,  lad,  quo'  she,  your  offer's  fair, 

1  really  think  I'll  tak'  it, 
Sae,  gang  awa',  get  out  the  mare. 

We'll  baith  slip  on  the  back  o't ; 
For  gin  I  wait  my  father's  time, 

I'll  wait  till  I  be  fifty  ; 
But  na; — I'll  marry  in  my  primj, 

An'  mak'  a  wife  most  thrifty. 

Wow!  Robin  was  an  angry  m;.n. 

At  tyning*  o'  his  dochter ; 
Through  a'  the  kintra-side  he  ran. 

An'  far  an'  near  he  sought  her; 

•  Losing.   * 


86  Humorous  Verse 

But  when  he  cam'  to  our  fire-end, 
An'  fand  us  baith  thegither, 

Quo'  I,  gudeman,  I've  ta'en  your  bairn, 
An'  ye  may  talc'  my  mither. 

Auld  Robin  girn'd  an'  sheuk  his  pbw, 

Guid  sooth  !  quo'  he,  you're  merry, 
But  I'll  just  tak'  ye  at  your  word, 

An'  end  this  hurry-burry  ; 
So  Robin  an'  our  auld  wife 

Agreed  to  creep  thegither  ; 
Now,  I  ha'e  Robin  Tamson's  pet, 

An'  Robin  has  my  mither. 


OH  AYE  MY  WIFE  SHE  DANG  ME. 

By  Robert  Burns. 

Oh  aye  my  wife  she  dang  me. 
An'  aft  my  wife  did  bang  me. 
If  ye  gi'e  a  woman  a'  her  will, 
Gude  faith,  she'll  soon  o'ergang  ye. 
On  peace  an'  rest  my  mind  was  bent, 

An'  fool  I  was,  I  married ; 
But  never  honest  man's  intent 

As  cursedly  miscarried. 

Some  sair  o'  comfort  still  at  last, 

When  a'  my  days  are  done,  man ; 
My  pains  o'  hell  on  earth  are  past, 

I'm  sure  o'  bliss  aboon,  man. 
Oh  aye  my  wife  she  dang  me. 
An'  aft  my  wife  did  bang  me, 
If  ye  gi'e  a  woman  a'  her  will, 
Gude  faith,  she'll  soon  o'ersrang  ye. 


Humorous  Verse  87 


THE   WIDOW    MALONE. 

By  Charles  Lever. 

Did  ye  hear  of  the  Widow  Malone, 

Ohone ! 

Who  lived  in  the  town  of  Athlone, 

Alone  ? 

Oh  !  she  melted  the  hearts 

Of  the  swains  in  them  parts, 

So  lovely  the  Widow  Malone, 

Ohone I 

So  lovely  the  Widow  Malone. 

Of  lovers  she  had  a  full  score, 

Or  more ; 
And  fortunes  they  all  had  galore, 

In  store ; 
From  the  minister  down 
To  the  Clerk  of  the  Crown, 
All  were  courting  the  "Widow  Malone, 

Ohone I 
All  were  courting  the  Widow  Malone. 

But  so  modest  was  Mrs.  Malone, 

'Twas  known 
No  one  ever  could  see  her  alone, 

Ohone ! 
Let  them  ogle  and  sigh, 
They  could  ne'er  catch  her  eye, 
So  bashful  the  Widow  Malone, 

Ohone ! 
So  bashful  the  Widow  Malone. 

Till  one  Mister  O'Brien  from  Clare — 

How  quare, 

It's  little  for  blushing  they  care 

Down  there — 


Httmofows  Verse 

Put  his  arm  round  her  waist, 

Gave  ten  kisses  at  laste  — 

"Oh,"  says  he,  "you're  my  Molly  Malone, 

My  own  ; " — 
"  Oh,"  says  he,  "  you're  my  Molly  Malone  ! " 

And  the  widow  they  all  thought  so  shy. 

My  eye  ! 

Ne'er  thought  of  a  simper  or  sigh — 

For  why  ? 

"  But,  Lucius,"  says  she, 

"  Since  you've  now  made  so  free. 

You  may  marr)'  your  Molly  Malone, 

Ohone ! 

You  may  marry  your  Molly  Malone." 

There's  a  moral  contained  in  my  song. 

Not  wrong  ; 

And,  one  comfort,  it's  not  very  long. 

But  strong : 

If  for  widows  you  die, 

Learn  to  kiss,  not  to  sigh, 

For  they're  all  like  sweet  Mistress  Malone, 

Ohone  ! 

Oh  !  they're  verj'  like  Mistress  Malone  ! 


THE  LAIRD  O'  COCKPEN- 

By    LADY    NAIRNE. 

The  two  last  stanzas  were  added  by   Miss   Ferrier. 

The  Laird  o'  Cockpen,  he's  proud  and  he's  great ; 
His  mind  is  ta'en  up  wi'  the  things  o'  the  state  ; 
He  wanted  a  wife  his  braw  house  to  keep  ; 
But  favour  wi'  wooin'  was  fashions  to  seek. 


Humorous  Verse  89 

Doun  by  the  dyke-side  a  lady  did  dwell, 
At  his  table-head  he  thought  she'd  look  well 
M'Clish's  ae  daughter  o'  Claverse-ha'  Lee — 
A  pennyless  lass  wi'  a  lang  pedigree. 

His  wig  was  well-pouther'd,  as  guid  as  when  new, 
His  waistcoat  was  white,  his  coat  it  was  blue : 
He  put  on  a  ring,  a  sword,  and  cock'd  hat  — 
And  wha  could  refuse  the  Laird  wi'  a'  that  ? 

He  took  the  grey  mare,  and  rade  cannilie — 
And  rapped  at  the  yett*  o'  Claverse-ha'  Lee  ; 
"  Gae  tell  mistress  Jean  to  come  speedily  ben  : 
She's  wanted  to  speak  wi'  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen." 

Mistress   Jean    she  was    makin'   the  elder-flower 

wine ; 
"  And  what  brings  the  Laird  at  sic  a  like  time  ?  " 
She  put  off  her  apron,  and  on  her  silk  gown, 
Her  mutch  wi'  red  ribbons,  and  gaed  awa'  down. 

And  when  she  cam'  ben,  he  boued  fu'  low  ; 
And  what  was  his  errand  he  soon  let  her  know, 
Amazed  was  the  Laird  when  the  lady  said,  Na, 
And  wi'  a  laight  curtsie  she  turned  awa'. 

Dumfounder'd  he  was,  but  nae  sigh  did  he  gi'e  ; 

He  mounted  his  mare,  and  rade  cannilie ; 

And  aften  he   thought,   as  he  gaed  through  the 

glen, 
"  She's  daft  to  refuse  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen." 

And  now  that  the  Laird  his  exit  had  made, 
Mistress  Jean  she  reflected  on  what  she  had  said  ; 
"Oh  1  for  ane  I'll  get  better,  it's  waur  I'll  get  ten — 
I  was  daft  to  refuse  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen." 

*  G;.tf.  \  Low. 


9°  Humorous  Verse 

Neist  time  that  the  Laird  and  the  Lady  were  seen, 
They  were  gaun  arm  and  arm  to  the  kirk  on  the 

green; 
Now  she  sits  in  the  ha'  like  a  weel-tappit  hen, 
But    as   yet    there's    nae   chickens    appeared    at 

Cockpen. 

FAITHLESS   SALLY   BROWN. 

AN   OLD   BALLAD. 

By    Thomas    Hood. 
Young  Ben  he  was  a  nice  young  man, 

A  carpenter  by  trade  ; 
And  he  fell  in  love  with  Sally  Brown, 

That  was  a  lady's  maid. 

But  as  they  fetched  a  walk  one  day, 

They  met  a  press-gang  crew ; 
And  Sally  she  did  faint  away, 

Whilst  Ben  he  was  brought  to. 

The  Boatswain  swore  with  wicked  words, 

Enough  to  shock  a  saint, 
That  though  she  did  seem  in  a  fit, 

'Twas  nothing  but  a  feint. 

"  Come,  girl,"  said  he,  "  hold  up  your  head, 

He'll  be  as  good  as  me ; 
For  when  your  swain  is  in  our  boat, 

A  boatswain  he  will  be." 

So  when  they'd  made  their  game  of  her. 

And  taken  off  her  elf, 
She  roused,  and  found  she  only  was 

A  coming  to  herself. 

"  And  is  he  gone,  and  is  he  gone  ? " 

She  cried,  and  wept  outright  : 
"  Then  I  will  to  the  water  side. 

And  see  him  out  of  sight." 


Humorous  Verse  91 

A  waterman  came  up  to  her, 

"  Now,  young  woman,"  said  he, 
"If  you  weep  on  so,  you  will  make 

Eye-water  in  the  sea." 

"  Alas  !  they've  taken  my  beau  Ben 

To  sail  with  old  Benbow  "  ; 
And  her  woe  began  to  run  afresh, 

As  if  she'd  said  Gee  woe  ! 

Says  he,  "  They've  only  taken  him 

To  the  Tender  ship,  you  see  "  ; 
"  The  Tender  ship."  cried  Sally  Brown, 

"  What  a  hard-ship  that  must  be  ! 

"  Oh  I  would  I  were  a  mermaid  now. 

For  then  I'd  follow  him  ; 
But  oh  !   I'm  not  a  fish-woman, 

And  so  I  cannot  swim. 

"  Alas  !  I  was  not  born  beneath 

The  Virgin  and  the  Scales, 
So  I  must  curse  my  cruel  stars. 

And  walk  about  in  Wales." 

Now  Ben  had  sailed  to  many  a  place 

That's  underneath  the  world  ; 
But  in  two  years  the  ship  came  home, 

And  all  her  sails  were  furled. 

But  when  he  called  on  Sally  Brown, 

To  see  how  she  went  on. 
He  found  she'd  got  another  Ben, 

Whose  Christian  name  was  John. 

"  O  Sally  Brown,  O  Sally  Brown  ! 

How  could  you  serve  me  so  ? 
I've  met  with  many  a  breeze  before. 

But  never  such  a  blow." 


"^2  Humorotts  Verse 

Then  reading  on  his  'bacco  box, 

He  heaved  a  bitter  sigh, 
And  then  began  to  eye  his  pipe, 

And  then  to  pipe  his  eye. 

And  then  he  tried  to  sing  "  All's  Well," 
But  could  not  though  he  tried  : 

His  head  was  turned,  and  so  he  chewed 
His  pigtail  till  he  died. 

His  death,  which  happened  in  his  berth, 

At  forty-odd  befell : 
They  went  and  told  the  sexton,  and 

The  sexton  toll'd  the  bell. 


UNFORTUNATE  MISS  BAILEY. 

(Anon.) 

A  CAPTAIN  bold  from  Halifax  who  dwelt  in  country 

quarters, 
Betrayed  a  maid  who  hanged  herself  one  morning 

in  her  Garters. 
His  wicked  conscience  smited  him,   he    lost  his 

Stomach  daily, 
And  took  todrinking  Ratafia  while  thinking  of  Miss 

Bailey. 

One  night  betimes  he  went   to  bed,  for  he  had 

caught  a  Fever; 
Says  he,  "  I   am  a  handsome  man,  but  I'm  a  gay 

Deceiver." 
His  candle  just  at  twelve  o'clock  began  to  burn 

quite  palely, 
A    Ghost    stepped   up    to   his   bedside   and    said 

"Behold  Miss  Bailevl" 


Humorous  Verse  93 

"  Avaunt,  Miss  Bailey  ! "  then  he  cries,  "  your  Face 

looks  white  and  mealy." 
"  Dear  Captain  Smith,"  the  ghost  replied,  "  you've 

used  me  ungenteelly ; 
The  Crowner's  'Quest  goes  hard  with  me  because 

I've  acted  frailly, 
And    Parson    Biggs  won't  bury  me  though  I  am 

dead  Miss  Bailey." 

"Dear    Corpse!"    said    he,    "since    you    and    I 

accounts  must  once  for  all  close, 
There  really  is  a  one  pound  note  in  my  regimental 

Smallclothes  ; 
I'll  bribe  the  sexton  for  your  grave."      The  ghost 

then  vanished  gaily 
Crying     "  Bless     you.     Wicked     Captain    Smith, 

Remember  poor  Miss  Bailey." 


MARY'S  GHOST. 

A      PATHETIC      BALLAD. 

By  Thomas  Hood. 

I.  / 

TWAS  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
To  sleep  young  William  tried  ; 

When  Mary's  ghost  came  steahng  in, 
And  stood  at  his  bed-side. 

II. 

O  William  dear  !  O  William  dear 

My  rest  eternal  ceases  ; 
Alas  !  my  everlastingjjpeace 

Is  broken  into  pieces. 


94  Humorous  Verse 

III. 

I  thought  the  last  of  all  my  cares 
Would  end  with  my  last  minute ; 

But  though  I  went  to  my  long  home, 
I  didn't  stay  long  in  it. 

IV. 

The  body-snatchers  they  have  come, 
And  made  a  snatch  at  me ; 

It's  very  hard  them  kind  of  men 
Won't  let  a  body  be  ! 

V. 

You  thought  that  I  was  buried  deep, 
Quite  decent  like  and  chary, 

But  from  her  grave  in  Mary-bone, 
They've  come  and  boned  your  Mary. 

VI. 

The  arm  that  used  to  take  your  arm, 

Is  took  to  Dr.  Vyse  ; 
And  both  my  legs  are  gone  to  walk 

The  hospital  at  Guy's. 

VII. 
I  vowed  that  you  should  have  my  hand. 

But  fate  gives  us  denial : 
You'll  find  it  there,  at  Dr.  Bell's 

In  spirits  and  a  phial. 

VIIT. 

As  for  my  feet,  the  little  feet 
You  used  to  call  so  pretty, 

There's  one,  I  know,  in  Bedford  Row, 
The  t'other's  in  the  City. 


Homofous  Vcfsc  95 

IX. 

I  can't  tell  where  my  head  is  gone, 

But  Doctor  Carpue  can  ; 
As  for  my  trunk  it's  all  packed  up 

To  go  by  Pickford's  van. 

X. 

I  wish  you'd  go  to  Mr.  P. 

And  save  me  such  a  ride  ; 
I  don't  half  like  the  outside  place, 

They've  took  for  my  inside. 

XI. 

The  cock  it  crows — I  must  be  gone ! 

My  William  we  must  part ! 
But  I'll  be  yours  in  death,  altho' 
Sir  Astley  has  my  heart 

XII. 

Don't  go  to  weep  upon  my  grave 

And  think  that  there  I  be  ; 
They  haven't  left  an  atom  there 

Of  my  anatomie. 


TO    FANNY. 
By  Thomas  Moore. 

Never  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses, 
You  want  not  antiquity's  stamp. 

The  lip  that's  so  scented  by  roses. 
Oh  !  never  must  smell  of  the  lamp. 

Old  Chloe,  whose  withering  kisses 
Have  long  set  the  loves  at  defiance, 

Now  done  with  the  science  of  blisses. 
May  fly  to  the  blisses  of  science  ! 


96  Humorous  Verse 

Young  Sappho,  for  want  of  employments, 

Alone  o'er  her  Ovid  may  melt, 
Condemned  but  to  read  of  enjoyments, 

Which  wiser  Corinna  had  felt. 

But  {or  you  to  be  buried  in  books  — 
Oh,  Fanny  !  they're  pitiful  sages  ; 

Who  could  not  in  otte  of  your  looks 
Read  moie  than  in  millions  of  pages  ! 

Astronomy  finds  in  your  eye 

Better  light  than  she  studies  above. 

And  music  must  borrow  your  sigh 
As  the  melody  dearest  to  love. 

In  Ethics — 'tis  you  that  can  check, 

In  a  minute,  their  doubts  and  their  quarrels  ; 

Oh  I  show  but  that  mole  on  your  neck, 
And  'twill  soon  put  an  end  to  their  morals. 

Your  Arithmetic  only  can  trip 

When  to  kiss  and  to  count  you  endeavour ; 
But  eloquence  glows  on  your  lip 

When  you  swear  that  you'll  love  me  for  ever. 

Thus  you  see  what  a  brilliant  alliance 

Of  arts  is  assembled  in  you — 
A  course  of  more  exquisite  science 

Man  never  need  wish  to  go  through  ! 

And,  oh  ! — if  a  fellow  like  me 

May  confer  a  diploma  of  hearts, 
With  my  lip  thus  I  seal  your  degree, 

My  divine  little  Mistress  of  Arts  ! 

KITTY  OF  COLERAINE. 

By  Edward  Lysaght. 

As  beautiful  Kitty  one  morning  was  tripping, 
With  a  pitcher  of  milk  from  the  fair  of  Coleraine 


Humorous  Verse  97 

When  she  saw  me  she  stumbled,  the  pitcher  down 
tumbled, 
And  all  the  sweet  butter-milk  watered  the  plain, 
''  Oh  !  what  shall  I  do  now  ?  'twas  looking  at  you, 
now ; 
Sure,  sure,  such  a  pitcher  I'll  ne'er  meet  again  ; 
'Twas  the  pride  of  my  dairy  !    O  Barney  M'Cleary, 
You're  sent  as  a  plague  to  the  girls  of  Coleraine  I" 

I  sat  down  beside  her,  and  gently  did  chide  her. 

That  such  a  misfortune  should  give  her  such 
pain  ; 
A  kiss  then  I  gave  her,  and,  ere  I  did  leave  her. 

She  vowed  for  such  pleasure  she'd  break  it  again. 
'Twas  hay-making  season — I  can't  tell  the  reason — 

Misfortunes  will  never  come  single,  'tis  plain  ; 
For  very  soon  after  poor  Kitty's  disaster 

The  devil  a  pitcher  was  whole  in  Coleraine. 


DORA    VERSUS  ROSE. 
By  Austin  Dobson» 

"  The  Case  is  proceeding.^* 

From  the  tragic-est  novels  at  Mudie's — 
At  least,  on  a  practical  plan — 

To  the  tales  of  mere  Hodges  and  Judys, 
One  love  is  enough  for  a  man. 

But  no  case  that  I  ever  yet  met  is 
Like  mine  :  I  am  equally  fond 

Of  Rose,  who  a  charming  brunette  is, 

And  Dora,  a  blonde. 

Each  rivals  the  other  in  powers — 

Each  waltzes,  each  warbles,  each  paints- 
Miss  Rose,  chiefly  tumble-down  towers  ; 
Miss  Do.,  perpendicular  saints. 

H 


98  Humofous  Verse 

In  short,  to  distinguish  is  folly ; 

'Twixt  the  pair  I  am  come  to  the  pass 
Of  Macheath,  between  Lucy  and  Polly,- 
Or  Buridan's  ass. 

If  it  happens  that  Rosa  I've  singled 
,  For  a  soft  celebration  in  rhyme, 

Then  the  ringlets  of  Dora  get  mingled 

Somehow  with  the  tune  and  the  time  ; 
Or  I  painfully  pen  me  a  sonnet 

To  an  eyebrow  intended  for  Do.'s, 
And  behold  I  am  writing  upon  it 

The  legend,  "  To  Rose." 

Or  I  try  to  draw  Dora  (my  blotter 
Is  all  overscrawled  with  her  head), 

If  I  fancy  at  last  that  I've  got  her, 
It  turns  to  her  rival  instead  ; 

Or  I  find  myself  placidly  adding 
To  the  rapturous  tresses  of  Rose 

Miss  Dora's  bud- mouth,  and  her  madding. 
Ineffable  nose. 

Was  there  ever  so  sad  a  dilemma  ? 

For  Rose  I  would  perish  {pro  tern.) ; 
For  Dora  I'd  willingly  stem  a — 

(Whatever  might  offer  to  stem) ; 
But  to  make  the  invidious  election, — 

To  declare  that  on  either  one's  side 
I've  a  scruple, — a  grain,  more  affection, 
I  cannot  decide. 

And,  as  either  so  hopelessly  nice  is. 
My  sole  and  my  final  resource 

Is  to  wait  some  indefinite  crisis, — 
Some  feat  of  molecular  force. 

To  solve  me  this  riddle  conducive 
By  no  means  to  peace  or  repose. 

Since  the  issue  can  scarce  be  inclusive 
Of  Dora  and  Rose. 


Humorous  Verse  99 

{Afterthought. ) 

But,  perhaps,  if  a  third  (say  a  Norah), 
Not  quite  so  delightful  as  Rose, — 

Not  wholly  so  charming  as  Dora, — 

Should  appear,  is  it  wrong  to  suppose,— 

As  the  claims  of  the  others  are  equal, — 
And  flight— in  the  main— is  the  best, — 

That  I  might  .  .  .  But  no  matter,  the  sequel 
Is  easily  guessed. 

A   PLEA   FOR   TRIGAMY. 
By  Owen  Seaman. 

I've  been  trying  to  fashion  a  wifely  ideal, 

And  find  that  my  tastes  are  so  far  from  concise 
That,  to  marry  completely,  no  fewer  than  three'll 
Suffice. 

.  I've  subjected  my  views  to  severe  atmospheric 
Compression,  but  still,  in  defiance  of  force. 
They  distinctly  fall  under  three  heads,  like  a  cleric 
Discourse. 

My_/f/'j/'must  be  fashion's  own  fancy -bred  daughter. 
Proud,  peerless,  and  perfect—  in  fact,  comme  il 
faut; 
A  waltzer  and  wit  of  the  very  first  water — 
For  show. 

But  these  beauties  that  serve  to  make  all  the  men 
jealous, 
Once  face  them  alone  in  the  family  cot. 
Heaven's  angels  incarnate  (the  novelists  tell  us) 
They're  not. 

But  so  much  for  appearances.    Now  for  my  second., 

My  lover,  the  wife  of  my  home  and  my  heart : 
Of  all  fortune  and  fate  of  my  life  to  be  reckon'd 
A  part. 


loo  Humorous  Verse 

She  must  know  all  the  needs  of  a  rational  being, 
Be  skilled  to  keep  counsel,  to  comfort,  to  coax  ; 
And,  abovq,  all  things  else,  be  accomplished  at 
seeing 

My  jokes. 

I  complete  the  manage  by  including  one  other 

With  all  the  domestic  prestige  of  a  hen  : 
As  my  housekeeper,  nurse,  or  it  may  be,  a  mother 
Of  men. 

Total  three  /  and  the  virtues  all  well  represented  ; 
With  fewer  than  this  such  a  thing  can't  be  done  ; 
Though    I've    known    married  men    who   declare 
they're  contented 

With  one. 

Would  you  hunt  during  harvest,  or  hay-make  in 
winter  ? 
And  how  can  one  woman  expect  to  combine 
Certain  qualifications  essentially  inter- 
necine ? 
You  may  say  that  my  prospects  are  (legally)  sun- 
less ; 
I  state  that  I  find  them  as  clear  as  can  be  : — 
I  will  marry  no  wife,  since  I  can't  do  with  one  less 
Than  three. 

AS   LIKE   THE   WOMAN   AS   YOU   CAN. 
By  William  Ernest  Henley. 

"  As  like  the  Woman  as  you  can  " — 

(Thus  the  New  Adam  was  beguiled) — 
"  So  shall  you  touch  the  Perfect  Man  " — 

(God  in  the  Garden  heard  and  smiled). 
"  Your  father  perished  with  his  day  : 

A  clot  of  passions  fierce  and  blind. 
He  fought,  he  hacked,  he  crushed  his  way  : 

Your  muscles.  Child,  must  be  of  mind. 


Humorous  Verse 

"  The  Brute  that  lurks  and  irks  within, 

How,  till  you  have  him  gagged  and  bound, 
Escape  the  foullest  form  of  Sin  ?" 

(God  in  the  Garden  laughed  and  frowned). 
"•  So  vile,  so  rank,  the  bestial  mood 

In  which  the  race  is  bid  to  be, 
It  wrecks  the  Rarer  Womanhood  : 

Live,  therefore,  you,  for  Purity  ! 

"  Take  for  your  mate  no  gallant  croup, 

No  girl  all  grace  and  natural  will : 
To  work  her  mission  were  to  stoop, 

Maybe  to  lapse,  from  Well  to  111. 
Choose  one  of  whom  your  grosser  make  " — 

(God  in  the  Garden  laughed  outright) — 
"  The  true  refining  touch  may  take. 

Till  both  attain  to  Life's  last  height. 

"  There,  equal,  purged  of  soul  and  sense, 

Beneficent,  high-thinking,  just, 
Beyond  the  appeal  of  Violence, 

Incapable  of  common  Lust, 
In  mental  Marriage  still  prevail" — 

(God  in  the  Garden  hid  His  face) — 
"Till  you  achieve  that  Female- Male 

In  which  shall  culminate  the  race." 


(m.) 

From  "A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM." 
By  William  Shakespeare. 

Enter  QvifiCi^  for  the  Prologue. 

Pro.     If  we  offend,  it  is  with  our  good  will. 

That  you  should  think,  we  come  not  to  offend, 
But  with  good  will.     To  show  our  simple  skill. 

That  is  the  true  beginning  of  our  end. 
Consider  then  we  come  but  in  despite. 

We  do  not  come  as  minding  to  content  you, 
Our  true  intent  is.     All  for  your  delight 

We  are  not  here.     That  you  should  here  repent 
you. 
The  actors  are  at  hand  and  by  their  show 
You  shall  know  all  that  you  are  like  to  know. 

The.     This  fellow  doth  not  stand  upon  points. 

Lys.  He  hath  rid  his  prologue  like  a  rough 
colt ;  he  knows  not  the  stop.  A  good  moral,  my 
lord  :  it  is  not  enough  to  speak,  but  to  speak  true. 

Hip.  Indeed  he  hath  played  on  his  prologue 
like  a  child  on  a  recorder ;  a  sound,  but  not  in 
government. 


Humorous  Verse  103 

The.  His  speech  was  like  a  tangled  chain ; 
nothing  impaired,  but  all  disordered.  Who  is 
next  ? 

Enter  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  Wall, 
Moonshine,  and  Lion. 

Pro.     Gentles,  perchance   you  wonder   at   this 
show  ; 

But  wonder  on,  till  truth  make  all  things  plain. 
This  man  is  Pyramus,  if  you  would  know  ; 

This  beauteous  lady,  Thisby  is  certain. 
This  man,  with  lime  and  rough-cast,  doth  present 

Wall,   that   vile   Wall   which   did    these    lovers 
sunder ; 
And  through  Wall's    chink,    poor  souls,  they  are 
content 

To  whisper.     At  the  which  let  no  man  wonder. 
This  man,  with  lanthorn,  dog,  and  bush  of  thorn, 

Presenteth  Moonshine  ;  for,  if  you  will  know. 
By  moonshine  did  these  lovers  think  no  scorn 

To  meet  at  Ninus'  tomb,  there,  there  to  woo. 
This  grisly  beast,  which  Lion  hight  by  name, 
The  trusty  Thisby,  coming  first  by  night, 
Did  scare  away,  or  rather  did  affright ; 
And,  as  she  fled,  her  mantle  she  did  fall. 

Which  Lion  vile  with  bloody  mouth  did  stain. 
Anon  comes  Pyramus,  sweet  youth  and  tall, 

And  finds  his  trusty  Thisby's  mantle  slain  : 
Whereat,  with  blade,  with  bloody  blameful  blade. 

He  bravely  broach'd  his  boiling  bloody  breast  ; 
And  Thisby,  tarrying  in  mulberry  shade. 

His  dagger  drew,  and  died.     For  all  the  rest, 
Let  Lion,  Moonshine,  Wall,  and  lovers  twain 
At  large  discourse,  while  here  they  do  remain. 
\_Exeunt  Prologue.,  Pyramus,    Thisbe,   Lion,  and 

Moonshine. 


I04  Humorous  Verse 

The.     I  wonder  if  the  lion  be  to  speak. 

Dem.     No    wonder,  my    lord ;    one    lion    may 
when  many  asses  do. 

Wall.     In  this  same  interlude  it  doth  befall 
That  I,  one  Snout  by  name,  present  a  wall ; 
And  such  a  wall,  as  I  would  have  you  think, 
That  had  in  it  a  crannied  hole  or  chink. 
Through  which  the  lovers,  Pyramus  and  Thisby, 
Did  whisper  often  very  secretly. 
This  loam,  this  rough-cast,  and   this    stone   doth 

show 
That  I  am  that  same  wall ;  the  truth  is  so  : 
And  this  the  cranny  is,  right  and  sinister. 
Through  which  the  fearful  lovers  are  to  whisper. 

The.     Would  you  desire  lime  and  hair  to  speak 
better  ? 

Dem.     It  is   the    wittiest   partition    that   ever    I 
heard  discourse,  my  lord. 

The.     Pyramus  draws  near  the  wall  :  silence  ! 

Enter  Pyramus. 

Pyr.     O  grim-look'd  night !    O  night   with  hue 
so  black ! 

0  night,  which  ever  art  when  day  is  not  ! 
O  night,  O  night !  alack,  alack,  alack, 

1  fear  my  Thisby's  promise  is  forgot ! 
And  thou,  O  wall,  O  sweet,  O  lovely  wall, 

That  stand'st  between  her  father's  ground  and 
mine  ! 
Thou  wall,  O  wall,  O  sweet  and  lovely  wall, 

Show  me  thy  chink,  to  blink  through  with  mine 
eyne  !  \Wall  holds  up  his  fingers. 

Thanks,  courteous  wall :  Jove  shield  thee  well  for 
this  ! 
But  what  see  I  ?     No  Thisby  do  I  see. 
O  wicked  wall,  through  whom  I  see  no  bliss  ! 
Cursed  be  thy  stones  for  thus  deceiving  me  ! 


Humorous  Verse  105 

The.  The  wall,  methinks,  being  sensible,  should 
curse  again. 

Pyr.  No,  in  truth,  sir,  he  should  not.  "De- 
ceiving me  "  is  Thisby's  cue :  she  is  to  enter  now, 
and  I  am  to  spy  her  through  the  wall.  You  shall 
see,  it  will  fall  pat  as  I  told  you.  Yonder  she 
comes. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

This.     O   wall,   full   often    hast    thou    heard    my 
moans, 
For  parting  my  fair  Pyramus  and  me  ! 
My  cherry  lips  have  often  kissed  thy  stones. 
Thy  stones  with  lime  and  hair  knit  up  in  thee. 
Pyr.     I  see  a  voice  :  now  will  I  to  the  chink, 
To  spy  an  I  can  hear  my  Thisby's  face. 
Thisby  ! 

This.     My  love  thou  art,  my  love  I  think. 
Pyr.     Think  what  thou  wilt,   I   am  thy  lover's 
grace ; 
And,  like  Limander,  am  I  trusty  still. 

This.     And  I  like  Helen,  till  the  Fates  me  kill. 
Pyr.     Not  Shafalus  to  Procrus  was  so  true. 
This.     As  Shafalus  to  Procrus,  I  to  you. 
Pyr.     Oh,  kiss  me  through  the  hole  of  this  vile 

wall! 
This.     I  kiss  the  wall's  hole,  not  your  lips  at  all. 
Pyr.     Wilt    thou    at    Ninny's    tomb    meet    me 

straightway  ? 
This.    'Tide  life,  'tide  death,    I    come   without 
delay.  \_Exeunt  Pyramus  and  Thisbe. 

Wall.     Thus  have  I,  Wall,  my  part  discharged 
so ; 
And,  being  done,  thus  Wall  away  doth  go.    \^Exit. 
The.     Now  is  the  mural  down  between  the  two 
neighbours. 

Dem.     No  remedy,  my  lord,  when  walls  are  so 
wilful  to  hear  without  warning. 


io6  Humorous  Verse 

Hip.     This  is  the  silliest  stuff  that  ever  I  heard. 
The.     The  best  in  this  kind  are  but  shadows  ; 
and  the  worst  are  no  worse,  if  imagination  amend 
them. 

Hip.  It  must  be  your  imagination  then,  and 
not  theirs. 

The.  If  we  imagine  no  worse  of  them  than 
they  of  themselves,  they  may  pass  for  excellent 
men.  Here  come  two  noble  beasts  in,  a  moon  and 
a  lion. 

Enter  LiON  and  Moonshine. 
Lion.     You,  ladies,  you,  whose  gentle  hearts  do 

fear 
The   smallest  monstrous  mouse  that  creeps  on 
floor, 
May  now  perchance  both  quake  and  tremble  here, 

When  lion  rough  in  wildest  rage  doth  roar. 
Then  know  that  I,  one  Snug  the  joiner,  am 
A  lion  fell,  nor  else  no  lion's  dam  ; 
For,  if  I  should  as  lion  come  in  strife 
Into  this  place,  'twere  pity  on  my  life. 

The.     A  very  gentle  beast,  and  of  a  good  con- 
science. 

Dem.     The  very  best  at  a  beast,  my  lord,  that 
e'er  I  saw. 

Lys.     This  lion  is  a  very  fox  for  his  valour. 
The.     True  ;  and  a  goose  for  his  discretion. 
Dem.     Not  so,  my  lord  ;  for  his  valour  cannot 
earry  his  discretion  ;  and  the  fox  carries  the  goose. 
The.     His  discretion,   I  am   sure,   cannot  carry 
his  valour  ;.for  the  goose  carries  not  the  fox.     It  is 
well  :  leave  it  to  his  discretion,  and  let  us  listen  to 
the  moon. 

Moon.     This   lanthorn   doth   the   horned  moon 

present ; — 
Dem.     He  should  have  worn  the  horns  on  his 
head.  ' 


Humorous  Verse  107 

The.  He  is  no  crescent,  and  his  horns  are  in- 
visible within  the  circumference. 

Moon.     This  lanthorn  doth  the    horned    moon 
present ; 
Myself  the  man  i'  the  moon  do  seem  to  be. 

The.  This  is  the  greatest  error  of  all  the  rest : 
the  man  should  be  put  into  the  lanthorn.  How  is 
it  else  the  man  i'  the  moon  ? 

De7n.  He  dares  not  come  there  for  the  candle  ; 
for,  you  see,  it  is  already  in  snuff. 

Hip.  I  am  aweary  of  this  moon :  would  he 
would  change  ! 

The.  It  appears,  by  his  small  light  of  discre- 
tion, that  he  is  in  the  wane ;  but  yet,  in  courtesy, 
in  all  reason  we  must  stay  the  time. 

Lys.     Proceed,  Moon. 

Moon.  All  that  I  have  to  say,  is,  to  tell  you 
that  the  lanthorn  is  the  moon  ;  I,  the  man  in  the 
moon  ;  this  thorn-bush,  my  thorn-bush  ;  and  this 
dog,  my  dog. 

Deni.  Why,  all  these  should  be  in  the  lanthorn  ; 
for  all  these  are  in  the  moon.  But,  silence  I  here 
comes  Thisbe. 

Enter  Thisre. 

This.     This  is  old  Ninny's  tomb.     Where  is  my 
love  ? 

Lion.     IJRoaring.]   Oh \Thisbe  runs  ojff. 

Dem.     Well  roared,  Lion. 
The.     Well  run,  Thisbe. 

Hip.  Well  shone,  Moon.  Truly,  the  moon 
shines  with  a  good  grace. 

{The  Lion  shakes  TTiisbe" s  mantle^  and  exit. 

The.     Well  moused,  Lion, 
Detn.     And  then  came  Pyramus. 
Lvs.     And  so  the  lion  vanished. 


io8  Hwmorous  Verse 


Enter  Pyramus. 

Pyr.     Sweet  Moon,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  sunny 

beams  ; 
I  thank  thee,  Moon,  for  shining  now  so  bright ; 
For,  by  thy  gracious,  golden,  glittering  gleams, 
I  trust  to  taste  of  truest  Thisby  sight. 
But  stay,  oh,  spite  ! 
But  mark,  poor  knight. 
What  dreadful  dole  is  here  ! 
Eyes,  do  you  see  ? 
How  can  it  be  ? 
O  dainty  duck  !  O  dear  ! 
Thy  mantle  good. 
What,  stained  with  blood  ? 
Approach,  ye  Furies  fell ! 
O  Fates,  come,  come, 
Cut  thread  and  thrum  ; 
Quail,  crush,  conclude,  and  quell ! 
The.     This   passion,  and   the  death  of  a   dear 
friend,  would  go  near  to  make  a  man  look  sad. 
Hip.     Beshrew  my  heart,  but  I  pity  the  man. 
Pyr.     O    wherefore,    Nature,    didst    thou    lions 

frame  ? 
Since  lion  vile  hath  here  deflower'd  my  dear  : 
Which  is — no,  no — which  was  the  fairest  dame 
That  lived,  that  loved,   that   liked,  that   look'd 
with  cheer. 

Come,  tears,  confound ; 
Out,  sword,  and  wound 
The  pap  of  Pyramus  ; 
Ay,  that  left  pap, 

Where  heart  doth  hop  :       \Stabs  himself. 
Thus  die  I,  thus,  thus,  thus. 
Now  am  I  dead, 
Now  am  I  fled  ; 
My  soul  is  in  the  sky  : 


Humorous  Verse  109 

Tongue,  lose  thy  light ; 
Moon,  take  thy  flight :    \_Exit  Moonshine. 
Now  die,  die,  die,  die,  die.  [Dies. 

Devi.  No  die,  but  an  ace  for  him ;  for  he  is 
but  one. 

Lys.  Less  than  an  ace,  man  ;  for  he  is  dead ; 
he  is  nothing. 

The.  With  the  help  of  a  surgeon  he  might  yet 
recover,  and  prove  an  ass. 

mp.  How  chances  Moonshine  gone,  before 
Thisbe  comes  back  and  finds  her  lover? 

The.  She  will  find  him  by  starlight.  Here 
she  comes  ;  and  her  passion  ends  the  play. 

Re-enter  Thisbe. 

Hip.  Methinks  she  should  not  use  a  long  one 
for  such  a  Pyramus  :  I  hope  she  will  be  brief. 

Dem.  A  mote  will  turn  the  balance,  which 
Pyramus,  which  Thisbe,  is  the  better ;  he  for  a 
man,  God  warrant  us ;  she  for  a  woman,  God 
bless  us. 

Lys.     She   hath  spied  him  already  with  those 
sweet  eyes. 
Dem.     And  thus  she  moans,  videlicet :  — 
This.       Asleep,  my  love  ? 

What,  dead,  my  dove  ? 
O  Pyramus,  arise  ! 
Speak,  speak.     Quite  dumb  ? 
Dead,  dead  ?    A  tomb 
Must  cover  thy  sweet  eyes. 
These  lily  lips, 
This  cherry  nose. 
These  yellow  cowslip  cheeks. 
Are  gone,  are  gone  : 
Lovers,  make  moan  : 
His  eyes  were  green  as  leeks. 
O  Sisters  Three, 


no  Humorous  Verse 

Come,  come  to  me, 
With  hands  as  pale  as  milk  ; 

Lay  them  in  gore, 

Since  you  have  shore 
With  shears  his  thread  of  silk. 

Tongue,  not  a  word  : 

Come,  trusty  sword ; 
Come  blade,  my  breast  imbrue  : 

[Stal>s  herself. 

And,  farewell,  friends : 

Thus  Thisby  ends  : 
Adieu,  adieu,  adieu.  \Dies. 


AFTER  HORACE. 

By  A.  D.  GODLEY. 

What  asks  the  Bard  ?   He  prays  for  nought 
But  what  the  truly  virtuous  crave  : 
^'-""  That  is,  the  things  he  plainly  ought 
To  have. 

'Tis  not  for  wealth,  with  all  the  shocks 

That  vex  distracted  millionaires, 
Plagued  by  their  fluctuating  stocks 
And  shares  : 

While  plutocrats  their  millions  new 

Expend  upon  each  costly  whim, 

A  great  deal  less  than  theirs  will  do 

For  him  : 

The  simple  incomes  of  the  poor 
His  meek  poetic  soul  content : 
Say,  ;^30,ooo  at  four 

Per  cent.  ! 


Humorous  Verse  m 

His  taste  in  residence  is  plain  : 
No  palaces  his  heart  rejoice  : 
A  cottage  in  a  lane  (Park  Lane 
For  choice) — 

Here  be  his  days  in  quiet  spent  : 

Here  let  him  meditate  the  Muse  : 
Baronial  Halls  were  only  meant 
For  Jews, 

And  lands  that  stretch  with  endless  span 

From  east  to  west,  from  south  to  north, 
Are  often  much  more  trouble  than 
They're  worth ! 

Let  epicures  who  eat  too  much 
Become  uncomfortably  stout : 
Let  gourmets  feel  th'  approaching  touch 
Of  gout,— 

The  Bard  subsists  on  simpler  food  : 

A  dinner,  not  severely  plain, 
A  pint  or  so  of  really  good 
Champagne — 

Grant  him  but  these,  no  care  he'll  take 

Though  Laureates  bask  in  Fortune's  smile, 
Though  Kiplings  and  Corellis  make 
Their  pile  : 

Contented  with  a  scantier  dole 

His  humble  Muse  serenely  jogs, 
Remote  from  scenes  where  authors  roll 
Their  logs  : 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd  she  lurks. 

And  really  cares  no  single  jot 

Whether  the  public  read  her  works 

Or  not  ! 


112  Humorous  Verse 

VILLON'S  STRAIGHT  TIP  TO  ALL  CROSS 
COVES. 

ByW.  E.  Henley. 

"  Tout  aux  tavernes  et  aux  fiells." 

Suppose  you  screeve  ?  or  go  cheap-jack  ? 

Or  fake  the  broads  ?  or  fig  a  nag  ? 
Or  thimble-rig  ?  or  knap  a  yack  ? 

Or  pitch  a  snide  ?  or  smash  a  rag  ? 

Suppose  you  duff?  or  nose  and  lag? 
Or  get  the  straight,  and  land  your  pot  ? 

How  do  you  melt  the  multy  swag  ? 
Booze  and  the  blowens  cop  the  lot. 

Fiddle,  or  fence,  or  mace,  or  mack  ; 

Or  moskeneer,  or  flash  the  drag ; 
Dead-lurk  a  crib,  or  do  a  crack  ; 

Pad  with  a  slang,  or  chuck  a  fag  ; 

Bonnet,  or  tout,  or  mump  and  gag ; 
Rattle  the  tats,  or  mark  the  spot ; 

You  can  not  bag  a  single  stag ; 
Booze  and  the  blowens  cop  the  lot. 

Suppose  you  try  a  different  tack. 

And  on  the  square  you  flash  your  flag  ? 
At  penny-a-lining  make  your  whack, 

Or  with  the  mummers  mug  and  gag  ? 

For  nix,  for  nix  the  dibbs  you  bag  ! 
At  any  graft,  no  matter  what, 

Your  merry  goblins  soon  stravag  : 
Booze  and  the  blowens  cop  the  lot. 

The  Moral. 

It's  up  the  spout  and  Charley  Wag 
With  wipes  and  tickers  and  what  notj 

Until  the  squeezer  nips  your  scrag, 
Booze  and  the  blowens  cop  the  lot. 


Humorous  Verse  1 1 3 


CUI    BONO? 

FROM   "REJECTED  ADDRESSES,"   BY  J.   AND 
H.   SMITH. 

After  Lord  Byron. 


Sated  with  home,  of  wife,  of  children  tired, 
The  restless  soul  is  driven  abroad  to  roam  ; 
Sated  abroad,  all  seen,  yet  nought  admired. 
The  restless  soul  is  driven  to  ramble  home ; 
Sated  with  both,  beneath  new  Drury's  dome 
The  fiend  Ennui  awhile  consents  to  pine. 
There  growls,  and  curses,  like  a  deadly  Gnome, 
Scorning  to  view  fantastic  Columbine, 
Viewing  with  scorn  and  hate  the  nonsense  of  the 
Nine. 

II. 

Ye  reckless  dupes,  who  hither  wend  your  way 
To  gaze  on  puppets  in  a  painted  dome. 
Pursuing  pastimes  glittering  to  betray, 
Like  falling  stars  in  life's  eternal  gloom. 
What  seek  ye  here  ?     Joy's  evanescent  bloom  ? 
Woe's  me !  the  brightest  wreaths  she  ever  gave 
Are  but  as  flowers  that  decorate  a  tomb. 
Man's  heart,  the  mournful  urn  o'er  which  they 
wave. 
Is  sacred  to  despair,  its  pedestal  the  grave. 

III. 

Has  life  so  little  store  of  real  woes. 

That  here  ye  wend  to  taste  fictitious  grief? 

Or  is  it  that  from  truth  such  anguish  flows. 

Ye  court  the  lying  drama  for  relief? 

Long  shall  ye  find  the  pang,  the  respite  brief : 

Or  if  one  tolerable  page  appears 

I 


114  Humorous  Verse 

In  folly's  volume,  'tis  the  actor's  leaf, 
Who  dries  his  own  by  drawing  others'  tears. 
And,  raising  present  mirth,  makes  glad  his  future 
years. 

IV, 

Albeit,  how  like  young  Betty  doth  he  flee  ! 
Light  as  the  mote  that  danceth  in  the  beam, 
He  liveth  only  in  man's  present  e'e ; 
His  life  a  flash,  his  memory  a  dream, 
Oblivious  down  he  drops  in  Lethe's  stream. 
Yet  what  are  they,  the  learned  and  the  great  ? 
Awhile  of  longer  wonderment  the  theme  ! 
Who  shall  presume  to  prophesy  their  date, 
Where  nought  is  certain,  save  the  uncertainty  of 
fate? 

V. 

This  goodly  pile,  upheaved  by  Wyatt's  toil, 
Perchance  than  Holland's  edifice  more  fleet,* 
Again  red  Lemnos'  artisan  may  spoil  ; 
The  fire-alarm  and  midnight  drum  may  beat, 
And  all  bestrewed  ysmoking  at  your  feet ! 
Start  ye  ?  perchance  Death's  angel  may  be  sent, 
Ere  from  the  flaming  temple  ye  retreat ; 
And  ye  who  met,  on  revel  idlesse  bent. 
May   find,   in    pleasure's   fane,   your    grave    and 
monument. 

VI. 

Your  debts  mount  high — ye  plunge  in  deeper 

waste ; 
1  he  tradesman  duns — no  warning  voice  ye  hear! 
The  plaintiff  sues— to  public  shows  ye  haste; 
The  bailiff  threats — ye  feel  no  idle  fear. 
Who  can  arrest  your  prodigal  career  .'* 
Who  can  keep  down  the  levity  of  youth  ? 
What  sound  can  startle  age's  stubborn  ear  ? 

*.   The  old  theatre  was  built  by  Holland  the  architect. 


Humorous  Verse  115 

Who  can  redeem  from  wretchedness  and  ruth 
Men  true  to  falsehood's  voice,  false  to  the  voice  of 
truth  ? 

VII. 

To   thee,  blest  saint  !    who  doffed   thy  skin  to 

make 
The  Smithfield  rabble  leap  from  theirs  with  joy, 
We  dedicate  the  pile — arise  !  awake  I — 
Knock  diwn  the  Aluses,  wit  and  sense  destroy, 
Clear  our  new  stage  from  reason's  dull  alloy. 
Charm  hobbling  age,  and  tickle  capering  youth 
With  cleaver,  marrow-bone,  and  Tunbridge  toy. 
While,  vibrating  in  unbelieving  tooth,* 
Harps   twang   in   Drury's   walls,   and    make   her 
boards  a  booth. 

VIII. 

For  what  is  Hamlet,  but  a  hare  in  March  ? 
And  what  is  Brutus,  but  a  croaking  owl  ? 
And  what  is  Rolla  ?     Cupid  steeped  in  starch, 
Orlando's  helmet  in  Augustin's  cowl. 
Skakespeare,   how   true    thine   adage,    "fair   is 

foul ! " 
To  him  whose  soul  is  with  fruition  fraught 
The  song  of  Braham  is  an  Irish  howl, 
Thinking  is  but  an  idle  waste  of  thought, 
And    nought    is    everything,    and    everything    is 
nought. 

IX. 

Sons  of  Parnassus  1  whom  I  view  above. 
Not  laurel-crown'd,  but  clad  in  rusty  black ; 
Not  spurring  Pegasus  through  Tempe's  grove, 
But  pacing  Grub  Street  on  a  jaded  hack; 
What  reams  of  foolscap,  while  your  brains  ye 

rack. 
Ye  mar  to  make  again  1  for  sure,  ere  long, 
Condemn'd  to  tread  the  bard's  tinr.e-sanction'd 

track, 

•  A  Jew's  harp. 


ii6  Humorous  Verse 

Ye  all  shall  join  the  bailiff-haunted  throng, 
And  reproduce,  in  rags,  the  rags  ye  blot  in  song. 

X. 

So  fares  the  follower  in  the  Muses'  train  ; 
He  toils  to  starve,  and  only  lives  in  death  ; 
We  slight  him,  till  our  patronage  is  vain, 
Then  round  his  skeleton  a  garland  wreathe, 
And  o'er  his  bones  an  empty  requiem  breathe— 
Oh  !  with  what  tragic  horror  would  he  start, 
(Could  he  be  conjured  from  the  grave  beneath) 
To  find  the  stage  again  a  Thespian  cart. 
And  elephants  and  colts  down-trampling  Shake- 
speare's art. 

XI. 

Hence,  pedant  Nature  I  with  thy  Grecian  rules  ! 
Centaurs  (not  fabulous)  those  rules  efface  ; 
Back,  sister  Muses,  to  your  native  schools ; 
Here  booted  grooms  usurp  Apollo's  place. 
Hoofs  shame  the  boards  that  Garrick  used  to 

grace. 
The  play  of  limbs  succeeds  the  play  of  wit, 
Man  yields  the  drama  to  the  Hou'yn'm  race. 
His  prompter  spurs,  his  licenser  the  bit. 
The  stage  a  stable-yard,  a  jockey-club  the  pit. 

XII. 

Is  it  for  these  ye  rear  this  proud  abode  ? 
Is  it  for  these  your  superstition  seeks 
To  build  a  temple  worthy  of  a  god  ? 
To  laud  a  monkey,  or  to  worship  leeks  ! 
Then  be  the  stage,  to  recompense  your  freaks, 
A  motley  chaos,  jumbling  age  and  ranks. 
Where  Punch,  the  lignum-vitas  Roscius,  squeaks, 
And  Wisdom  weeps  and  Folly  plays  his  pranks, 
And  moody  Madness  laughs  and  hugs  the  chain 
he  clanks. 


Humorous  Verse  1 1 7 


THE    REBUILDING. 

FROM   "REJECTED   ADDRESSES,"   BY  J.    AND 
H.    SMITH. 

After  Robert  Southey. 

[^Spoken  by  a  GlendoveerJ] 

I  AM  a  blessed  Glendoveer  : 

'Tis  mine  to  speak,  and  yours  to  hear.. 

Midnight,  yet  not  a  nose 
From  Tower  Hill  to  Piccadilly  snored  r. 

Midnight,  yet  not  a  nose 
From  Indra  drew  the  essence  of  repose  t 

See  with  what  crimson  fury. 
By  Indra  fann'd,  the  god  of  fire  ascends  the  walls 
of  Drury  ! 

Tops  of  houses,  blue  with  lead, 

Bend  beneath  the  landlord's  tread. 

Master  and  'prentice,  serving-man  and  lord, , 

Nailor  and  tailor. 

Grazier  and  brazier. 

Through  streets  and  alleys  pour'd— 

All,  all  abroad  to  gaze, 

And  wonder  at  the  blaze. 

Thick  calf,  fat  foot,  and  slim  knee,,. 

Mounted  on  roof  and  chimney, 
The  mighty  roast,  the  mighty  stew- 
To  see ; 
As  if  the  dismal  view 
Were  but  to  them  a  Brentford  jubilee. 
Vainly,  all-radiant  Surya,  sire  of  Phaeton 
(By  Greeks  call'd  Apollo), 
Hollow 
Sounds  from  thy  harp  proceed  ; 
Combustible  as  reed. 


ti8  Humofous  Verse 

The  tongue  of  Vulcan  licks  thy  wooden  legs  : 
From  Drury's  top,  dissever'd  from  thy  pegs, 
Thou  tumblest, 
Humblest 
Where  late  thy  bright  effulgence  shone  on  high  : 
While,  by  thy  somerset  excited,  Hy 
Ten  million 
Billion 
Sparks  from  the  pit,  to  gem  the  sable  sky. 
Now  come  the  men  of  fire  to  quench  the  fires  : 
To  Russell  Street  see  Globe  and  Atlas  run, 
Hope  gallops  first,  and  second  Sun  ; 
On  flying  heel. 
See  Hand-in-Hand 
O'ertake  the  band  ! 
View  with  what  glowing  wheel 
He  nicks 
Phoenix  ! 
While  Albion  scampers  from  Bridge  Street,  Black- 
friars — 

Drury  Lane  !    Drury  Lane  ! 

Drury  Lane  !    Drury  Lane  ! 

They  shout  and  they  bellow  again  and  again. 

All,  all  in  vain  I 

Water  turns  steam  ; 

Each  blazing  beam 

Hisses  defiance  to  the  eddying  spout : 

It  seems  but  too  plain  that  nothing  can  put  it  out 

t  Drury  Lane  !    Drur/  Lane  ! 

See,  Drury  Lane  expires. 

Pent  in  by  smoke-dried  beams,  twelve  moons  or 

more 

Shorn  of  his  ray, 

Surya  in  durance  lay: 

The  workmen  heard  him  shout. 

But  thought  it  would  not  pay. 

To  dig  him  out. 


Humofous  Verse  119 

When  lo  !  terrific  Yamen,  lord  of  hell, 

Solemn  as  lead, 

Judge  of  the  dead, 

Sworn  foe  to  witticism, 

By  men  call'd  criticism, 

Came  passing  by  that  way  : 

"Rise!"  cried  the  fiend,  "behold  a  sight  of  gladness  ! 

Behold  the  rival  theatre  ! 

I've  set  O.  P.  at  her, 

Who,  like  a  bull-dog  bold. 

Growls  and  fastens  on  his  hold. 


"  The  many  headed  rabble  roar  in  madness  ; 

Thy  rival  staggers  :  come  and  spy  her 

Deep  in  the  mud  as  thou  art  in  the  mire." 

So  saying,  in  his  arms  he  caught  the  beaming  one 

And  crossing  Russell  Street, 

He  placed  him  on  his  feet 

'Neath  Covent  Garden  dome.     Sudden  a  sound. 

As  of  the  bricklayers  of  Babel,  rose  : 
Horns,    rattles,    drums,    tin    trumpets,    sheets    of 

copper. 
Punches  and  slaps,  thwacks  of  all  sorts  and  sizes. 
From  the  knobb'd  bludgeon  to  the  taper  switch, 
Ran  echoing  round  the  walls  ;  paper  placards 
Blotted   the    lamps,   boots  brown   with    mud   the 
benches ; 
A  sea  of  heads  roU'd  roaring  in  the  pit ; 
On  paper  wings  O.  P.'s 
Reclin'd  in  lettered  ease  ; 
While  shout  and  scoff, 
"Ya!  ya!  off!  off!" 
Like  thunderbolt  on  Surya's  ear-drum  fell. 
And  seemed  to  paint 
The  savage  oddities  of  Saint 
Bartholomew  in  hell. 


I20  Humorous  Verse 

Tears  dimm'd  the  god  of  light — 

"  Bear  me  back,  Yamen,  from  this  hideous  sight ; 

Bear  me  back,  Yamen,  I  grow  sick, 

Oh  !  bury  me  again  in  brick  ; 

Shall  I  on  New  Drury  tremble, 

To  be  O.  P.'d  like  Kemble  ? 

No, 

Better  remain  by  rubbish  guarded. 

Than  thus  hubbubish  groan  placarded ; 

Bear  me  back,  Yamen,  bear  me  quick. 

And  bury  me  again  in  brick." 

Obedient  Yamen 

Answered,  "  Amen," 

And  did 

As  he  was  bid. 

There  lay  the  buried  god,  and  Time 
Seemed  to  decree  eternity  of  lime  ; 
But  pity,  like  a  dew-drop,  gently  prest 
Almighty  Veeshnoo's  adamantine  breast : 
He,  the  preserver,  ardent  still 
To  do  whate'er  he  says  he  will, 
From  South  Hill  wing'd  his  way, 
To  raise  the  drooping  lord  of  day. 
All  earthly  spells  the  busy  one  o'erpowei-'d ; 
He  treats  with  men  of  all  conditions. 
Poets  and  players,  tradesmen  and  musicians  ; 
Nay,  even  ventures 
To  attack  the  renters, 
Old  and  new : 
A  list  he  gets 
Of  claims  and  debts. 
And  deems  nought  done  while  aught  remains  to 
do. 

Yamen  beheld,  and  wither'd  at  the  sight ; 

Long  had  he  aim'd  the  sunbeam  to  control, 

For  light  was  hateful  to  his  soul : 


Humorous  Vcfsc  121 

"  Go  on  I "  cried  the  hellish  one,  yellow  with  spite  : 

"  Go  on  I "  cried  the  hellish  one,  yellow  with  spleen, 

"Thy  toils  of  the  morning,  like  Ithaca's  queen, 

I'll  toil  to  undo  every  night." 

Ye  sons  of  song,  rejoice  ! 

Veeshnoo  has  still'd  the  jarring  elements, 

The  spheres  hymn  music  ; 

Again  the  god  of  day 

Peeps  forth  with  trembling  ray, 

Wakes,  from  their  humid  caves,  the  sleeping  Nine 

And  pours  at  intervals  a  strain  divine. 

"  I  have  an  iron  yet  in  the  fire,"  cried  Yamen ; 

"The  vollied  flame  rides  in  my  breath, 

My  blast  is  elemental  death  ; 

This  hand  shall  tear  your  paper  bonds  to  pieces  ; 

Ingross  your  deeds,  assignments,  leases, 

My  breath  shall  every  line  erase 

Soon  as  I  blow  the  blaze." 

The  lawyers  are  met  at  the  Crown  and  Anchor, 
And  Yamen's  visage  grows  blanker  and  blanker ; 
The  lawyers  are  met  at  the  Anchor  and  Crown, 
And  Yamen's  cheek  is  a  russety  brown  ; 
Veeshnoo,  now  thy  work  proceeds  ; 
The  solicitor  reads. 
And,  merit  of  merit ! 
Red  wax  and  green  ferret 
Are  fixed  at  the  foot  of  the  deeds  I 

Yamen  beheld  and  shiver'd ; 

His  finger  and  thumb  were  cramp'd  ; 

His  ear  by  the  flea  in't  was  bitten, 

When  he  saw  by  the  lawyer's  clerk  written, 

Sealed  and  delivered, 

Being  first  duly  stamped. 

"  Now  for  my  turn  I"  the  demon  cries,  and  blows 
A  blast  of  sulphur  from  his  mouth  and  nose. 


122  Humorous  Verse 

Ah  !  bootless  aim  !  the  critic  fiend, 
Sagacious  Yamen,  judge  of  hell, 
Is  judged  in  his  turn  ; 
Parchment  won't  burn  ! 
His  schemes  of  vengeance  are  dissolved  in  air, 
Parchment  won't  tear  ! ! 
Is  it  not  written  in  the  Himakoot  book 
(That  mighty  Baly  from  Kehama  took) 
"  Who  blows  on  pounce 
Must  the  Swerga  renounce"? 
It  is  !  it  is  !  Yamen,  thine  hour  is  nigh  : 
Like  as  an  eagle  claws  an  asp, 
Veeshnoo  has  caught  him  in  his  mighty  grasp, 
And  hurl'd  him  in  spite  of  his  shrieks  and  his 
squalls, 
Whizzing  aloft,  like  the  Temple  fountain. 
Three  times  as  high  as  Meru  mountain. 
Which  is 
Ninety  times  as  high  as  St.  Paul's. 

Descending,  he  twisted  like  Levy  the  Jew, 

Who  a  durable  grave  meant 

To  dig  in  the  pavement 

Of  Monument  Yard : 

To  earth  by  the  laws  of  attraction  he  flew, 

And  he  fell,  and  he  fell 

To  the  regions  of  hell ; 

Nine  centuries  bounced  he  from  cavern  to  rock. 

And  his  head,  as  he  tumbled,  went  nickety-nock, 

Like  a  pebble  in  Carisbrooke  "Well. 


Now  Veeshnoo  turn'd  round  to  a  capering  varlet, 

Array'd  in  blue  and  white  and  scarlet. 

And  cried,  "  Oh  I  brown  of  slipper  as  of  hat ! 

Lend  me,  Harlequin,  thy  bat !" 

He  seized  the  wooden  sword,  and  smote  the  earth ! 


Humofotjs  Verse  123 

When  lo  !  upstarting  into  birth 

A  fabric,  gorgeous  to  behold, 

Outshone  in  elegance  the  old. 

And  Veeshnoo  saw,  and  cried,  "  Hail,  playhouse 

mine  ! " 

Then,  bending  his  head,  to  Surya  he  said : 

"  Soon  as  thy  maiden  sister  Di 

Caps  with  her  copper  lid  the  dark  blue  sky. 

And  through  the  fissures  of  her  clouded  fan 

Peeps  at  the  naughty  monster  man, 

Go  mount  yon  edifice. 

And  show  thy  steady  face 

In  renovated  pride, 

More  bright,  more  glorious  than  before  !  " 

But  ah  !  coy  Surya  still  felt  a  twinge, 

Still  smarted  from  his  former  singe ; 

And  to  Veeshnoo  replied. 

In  a  tone  rather  gruff, 

"  No,  thank  you  I  one  tumble's  enough  !" 


PLAYHOUSE    MUSINGS. 

FROM    "rejected  ADDRESSES,"  BY  J.   AND 
H.   SMITH. 

After  S.  T.  Coleridge. 

My  pensive  Public,  wherefore  look  you  sad? 
I  had  a  grandmother,  she  kept  a  donkey 
To  carry  to  the  mart  her  crockery-ware, 
And  when  that  donkey  look'd  me  in  the  face. 
His  face  was  sad  !  and  you  are  sad,  my  Public  I 

Joy  should  be  yours  :  this  tenth  day  of  October. 
Again  assembles  us  in  Drury  Lane. 
Long  wept  my  eye  to  see  the  timber  planks 
That  hid  our  ruins  ;  many  a  day  I  cried, 
Ah  me  !  I  fear  they  never  will  rebuild  it 


124  HumofOtts  Verse 

Till  on  the  eve,  one  joyful  Monday  eve, 

As  along  Charles  Street  I  prepared  to  walk, 

Just  at  the  corner,  by  the  pastrycook's, 

I  heard  a  trowel  tick  against  a  brick, 

I  look'd  me  up,  and  straight  a  parapet 

Uprose  at  least  seven  inches  o'er  the  planks. 

Joy  to  thee,  Drury  !  to  myself  I  said  : 

He  of  Blackfriars  Road,  who  hymned  thy  downfall 

In  loud  Hosannahs,  and  who  prophesied 

That  flames,  like  those  from  prostrate  Solyma, 

Would  scorch  the  hand  that  ventured  to  rebuild 

thee, 
Has  proved  a  lying  prophet.     From  that  hour. 
As  leisure  ofter'd,  close  to  Mr.  Spring's 
Box-ofifice  door,  I've  stood  and  eyed  the  builders. 
They  had  a  plan  to  render  less  their  labours  ; 
Workmen  in  olden  times  would  mount  a  ladder 
With   hodded  heads,  but  these  stretch'd  forth  a 

pole 
From  the  wall's  pinnacle,  they  placed  a  pulley 
Athwart  the  pole,  a  rope  athwart  the  pulley ; 
To  this  a  basket  dangled  ;  mortar  and  bricks 
Thus  freighted,  swung  securely  to  the  top. 
And  in  the  empty  basket  workmen  twain 
Precipitate,  unhurt,  accosted  earth. 

Oh  !  'twas  a  goodly  sound,  to  hear  the  people 
Wlio   watch'd    the    work    express    their    various 

thoughts  ! 
While  some  believed  it  never  would  be  finish'd, 
Some,  on  the  contrary,  believed  it  would. 

I've  heard  our  front  that  faces  Drury  Lane 
Much  criticised  ;  they  say  'tis  vulgar  brickwork, 
A  mimic  manufactory  of  floor-cloth. 
One  of  the  morning  papers  wish'd  that  front 
Cemented  like  the  front  in  Brydges  Street ; 


Humorous  Verse  125 

As  it  now  looks,  they  call  it  Wyatt's  Mermaid, 
A  handsome  woman  with  a  fish's  tail. 


White   is   the   steeple   of  St.    Bride's   in   Fleet 
Street ! 
The  Albion  (as  its  name  denotes)  is  white  ; 
Morgan  and  Saunders'  shop  for  chairs  and  tables 
Gleams  like  a  snow-ball  in  the  setting  sun. 
White  is  Whitehall.      But  not  St.  Bride's  in  Fleet 

Street, 
The  Spotless  Albion,  Morgan,  no,  nor  Saunders, 
Nor  white  Whitehall,  is  white  as  Drury's  face. 

Oh,  Mr.  Whitbread  I  fie  upon  you,  sir  ! 
I  think  you  should  have  built  a  colonnade ; 
When  tender  Beauty,  looking  for  her  coach, 
Protrudes  her  gloveless  hand,  perceives  the  shower, 
And  draws  the  tippet  closer  round  her  throat, 
Perchance  her  coach  stands  half  a  dozen  off. 
And,  ere  she  mounts  the  step,  the  oozing  mud 
Soaks    through   her    pale   kid   slipper.      On    the 

morrow. 
She  coughs  at  breakfast,  and  her  gruff  papa 
Cries,  "There  you  go  !  this  comes  of  playhouses!" 
To  build  no  portico  is  penny  wise  : 
Heaven   grant   it   prove   not   in   the   end    pound 
foolish ! 

Hail  to  thee,  Drury  !  Queen  of  Theatres  I 
What  is  the  Regency  in  Tottenham  Street, 
The  Royal  Amphitheatre  of  Arts, 
Astley's  Olympic,  or  the  Sans  Pareil, 
Compared   with   thee  ?     Yet    when    I    view   thee 

push'd 
Back  from  the  narrow  street  that  christened  thee, 
I  know  not  why  they  call  thee  Drury  Lane. 


126  Humorous  Verse 

Amid  the  freaks  that  modern  fashion  sanctions, 
It  grieves  me  much  to  see  live  animals 
Brought  on  the  stage.     Grimaldi  has  his  rabbit, 
Laurent  his  cat,  and  Bradbury  his  pig. 
Fie  on  such  tricks  I  Johnson,  the  machinist 
Of  former  Drury,  imitated  life 
Quite  to  the  life.     The  Elephant  in  Blue  Beard, 
Stuff  d  by  his  hand,  wound  round  his  lithe  pro- 
boscis 
As  spruce  as  he  who  roar'd  in  Padmanaba. 
Nought  born  on  earth  should  die.     On  hackney 

stands 
I  reverence  the  coachman  who  cries  "  Gee," 
And  spares  the  lash.     When  I  behold  a  spider 
Prey  on  a  fly,  a  magpie  on  a  worm, 
Or  view  a  butcher  with  horn-handled  knife 
Slaughter  a  tender  lamb  as  dead  as  mutton. 
Indeed,  indeed,  I'm  very,  very  sick  ! 

\^Exit  hastily. 


THE    LIVING    LUSTRES. 

FROM    "REJECTED  ADDRESSES,"   BV  J.   AND 
H.    SMITH. 

After  Thomas  Moore, 
I. 

O  WHY  should  our  dull  retrospective  addresses 
Fall  damp  as  wet  blankets  on  Drury  Lane  fire  ? 

Away  with  blue  devils,  away  with  distresses. 
And  give  the  gay  spirit  to  sparkling  desire  ! 

II. 
Let  the  artists  decide  on  the  beauties  of  Drury, 

The  richest  to  me  is  when  woman  is  there  ; 
The  question  of  houses  I  leave  to  the  jur)- ; 

The  fairest  to  rne  is  the  house  of  the  fair. 


Humorous  Verse  127 

III. 

When  woman's  soft  smile  all  our  senses  bewilders, 

And  gilds,  while  it  carves,  her  dear  form  on  the 

heart. 

What  need  has  New  Drury  of  carvers  and  gilders? 

With  Nature  so  bounteous,  why  call  upon  Art  ? 

IV, 

How  well  would  our  actors  attend  to  their  duties. 
Our  house  save  in  oil,  and  our  authors  in  wit. 

In  lieu  of  yon  lamps,  if  a  row  of  young  beauties 
Glanced  light  from  their  eyes  between  us  and 

the  pit ! 

V. 

The  apples  that  grew  on  the  fruit-tree  of  knowledge 
By  woman  were  pluck'd,  and  she  still  wears  the 
prize. 

To  tempt  us  in  theatre,  senate,  or  college — 
I  mean  the  love-apples  that  bloom  in  the  eyes. 

VI. 

There  too  is  the  lash  which,  all  statutes  controlling, 
Still  governs  the  slaves  that  are  made  by  the  fair; 

For  man  is  the  pupil,  who,  while  her  eye's  rolling. 
Is  lifted  to  rapture,  or  sunk  in  despair. 

VII. 

Bloom,  theatre,  bloom,  in  the  roseate  blushes 
Of  beauty  illumed  by  a  love-breathing  smile  ! 

And  flourish,  ye  pillars,  as  green  as  the  rushes 
That  pillow  the  nymphs  of  the  Emerald  Isle  ! 

VIII. 

For  dear  is  the  Emerald  Isle  of  the  ocean, 

Whose  daughters  are  fair  as  the  foam  of  the 
wave. 
Whose  sons,  unaccustom'd  to  rebel  commotion, 
'    The'  joyous,  are  sober — the'  peaceful,  are  brave. 


128  Homofous  Verse 

IX. 

The  shamrock  their  olive,  sworn  foe  to  a  quarrel, 
Protects  from  the  thunder  and  lightning  of  rows ; 

Their  sprig  of  shillelagh  is  nothing  but  laurel, 
Which  flourishes  rapidly  over  their  brows. 


X. 

Oh  !  soon  shall  they  burst  the  tyrannical  shackles 
Which  each  panting  bosom  indignantly  names, 

Until  not  one  goose  at  the  capital  cackles 

Against  the  grand  question  of  Catholic  claims. 


XI. 

And  then  shall  each  Paddy,  who  once  on  the  Liffey 
Perchance  held  the  helm  of  some  mackerel  hoy, 

Hold  the  helm  of  the  state,  and  dispense  in  a  jiflfy 
More  fishes  than  ever  he  caught  when  a  boy. 


XII. 

And  those  who  now  quit  their  hods,  shovels,  and 
barrows. 
In  crowds  to  the  bar  of  some  ale-house  to  flock. 
When   bred   to   our    bar  shall   be   Gibbses    and 
Garrows, 
Assume  the  silk  gown,  and  discard  the  smock- 
frock. 

XIII. 

For  Erin  surpasses  the  daughters  of  Neptune, 
As  Dian  outshines  each  encircling  star ; 

And  the  spheres  of  the  heavens  could  never  have 
kept  tune 
Till  set  to  the  music  of  Erin-go-bragh. 


Humotows  Vcfse  129 

THE    THEATRE. 

FROM   "REJECTED  ADDRESSES,"   BY  J.   AND 
H.    SMITH. 

After  THE  Rev.  George  Crabbe. 
'Tis  sweet  to  view,  from  half-past  five  to  six. 
Our  long  wax-candles,  with  short  cotton  wicks, 
Touch'd  by  the  lamplighter's  Promethean  art, 
Start  into  light,  and  make  the  lighter  start ; 
To  see  red  Phoebus  through  the  gallery-pane 
Tinge  with  his  beam  the  beams  of  Drury  Lane  ; 
While  gradual  parties  fill  our  widen'd  pit. 
And  gape,  and  gaze,  and  wonder,  ere  they  sit. 

At  first,  while  vacant  seats  give  choice  and  ease. 
Distant  or  near,  they  settle  where  they  please  ; 
But  when  the  multitude  contracts  the  span. 
And  seats  are  rare,  they  settle  where  they  can. 

Now  the  full  benches  to  late-comers  doom 
No  room  for  standing,  miscall'd  standing-room. 

Hark  !  the  check-taker  moody  silence  breaks, 
And  bawling  "  Pit  full !"  gives  the  check  he  takes  ; 
Yet  onward  still  the  gathering  numbers  cram, 
Contending  crowders  shout  the  frequent  damn. 
And  all  is  bustle,  squeeze,  row,  jabbering,  and  jam. 

See  to  their  desks  Apollo's  sons  repair — 
Swift  rides  the  rosin  o'er  the  horse's  hair  ! 
In  unison  their  various  tones  to  tune, 
Murmurs  the  hautboy,  growls  the  hoarse  bassoon  ; 
In  soft  vibration  sighs  the  whispering  lute, 
Tang  goes  the  harpsichord,  too-too  the  flute, 
Brays  the  loud  trumpet,  squeaks  the  fiddle  sharp. 
Winds  the  French  horn,  and  twangs  the  tingling 

harp ; 
Till,  like  great  Jove,  the  leader,  figuring  in, 
Attunes  to  order  the  chaotic  din. 

K 


130  Humorous  Verse 

Now  all  seems  hush'd  ;  but  no,  one  fiddle  will 
Give,  half-ashamed,  a  tiny  flourish  still. 
Foil'd  in  his  crash,  the  leader  of  the  clan 
Reproves  with  frowns  the  dilatory  man  : 
Then  on  his  candlestick  thrice  taps  his  bow. 
Nods  a  new  signal,  and  away  they  go. 

Perchance,  while  pit  and  gallery  cry  "Hats  off!" 
And  awed  Consumption  checks  his  chided  cough, 
Some  giggling  daughter  of  the  Queen  of  Love 
Drops,  reft  of  pin,  her  play-bill  from  above  ; 
Like  Icarus,  while  laughing  galleries  clap. 
Soars,  ducks,  and  dives  in  air  the  printed  scrap ; 
But,  wiser  far  than  he,  combustion  fears, 
And,  as  it  flies,  eludes  the  chandeliers ; 
Till,  sinking  gradual,  with  repeated  twirl, 
It  settles,  curling,  on  a  fiddler's  curl, 
Who  from  his  powder'd  pate  the  intruder  strikes, 
And,  for  mere  malice,  sticks  it  on  the  spikes. 

Say,  why  these  Babel  strains  from  Babel 

tongues  ? 
Who's  that  calls  "  Silence  !"  with  such  leathern 

lungs  ? 
He  who,  in  quest  of  quiet,  "  Silence  ! "  hoots, 
Is  apt  to  make  the  hubbub  he  imputes. 

What  various  swains  our  motley  walls  contain ! — 
Fashion  from  Moorfields,  honour  from  Chick 

Lane  ; 
Bankers  from  Paper  Buildings  here  resort. 
Bankrupts  from  Golden  Square  and  Riches  Court ; 
From  the  Haymarket  canting  rogues  in  grain, 
Gulls  from  the  Poultry,  sots  from  Water  Lane  ; 
The  lottery-cormorant,  the  auction-shark, 
The  full-price  master,  and  the  half-price  clerk ; 
Boys  who  long  linger  at  the  gallery-door, 


Humorous  Verse  131 

With  pence  twice  five— they  want  but  twopence 

more ; 
Till  some  Samaritan  the  twopence  spares, 
And  sends  them  jumping  up  the  gallery-stairs. 

Critics  we  boast  who  ne'er  their  malice  balk, 
But  talk  their  minds — we  wish  they'd  mind  their 

talk  ; 
Big-worded  bullies,  who  by  quarrels  live — 
Who  give  the  lie,  and  tell  the  lie  they  give  ; 
Jews  from  St.  Mary  Axe,  for  jobs  so  wary, 
That  for  old  clothes  they'd  even  axe  St.  Mary; 
And  bucks  with  pockets  empty  as  their  pate, 
Lax  in  their  gaiters,  laxer  in  their  gait ; 
Who  oft,  when  we  our  house  lock-up,  carouse 
With  tippling  tipstaves  in  a  lock-up  house. 

Yet  here,  as  elsewhere,  Chance  can  joy  bestow, 
Where  scowling  Fortune  seem'd  to  threaten  woe. 

John  Richard  William  Alexander  Dwyer 
Was  footman  to  Justinian  Stubbs,  Esquire; 
But  when  John  Dwyer  listed  in  the  Blues, 
Emanuel  Jennings  polish'd  Stubbs's  shoes. 
Emanuel  Jennings  brought  his  youngest  boy 
Up  as  a  corn-cutter — a  safe  employ  ; 
In  Holywell  Street,  St.  Pancras,  he  was  bred 
(At  number  twenty-seven,  it  is  said), 
Facing  the  pump,  and  near  the  Granby's  Head  ; 
He  would  have  bound  him  to  some  shop  in  town. 
But  with  a  premium  he  could  not  come  down. 
Pat  was  the  urchin's  name — a  red-hair'd  youth. 
Fonder  of  purl  and  skittle-grounds  than  truth. 

Silence,  ye  gods  !  to  keep  your  tongues  in  awe. 
The  Muse  shall  tell  an  accident  she  saw. 

Pat  Jennings  in  the  upper  gallery  sat. 
But,  leaning  forward,  Jennings  lost  his  hat ; 


132  Humorous  Verse 

Down  from  the  gallery  the  beaver  flew, 
And  spurn'd  the  one  to  settle  in  the  two. 
How  shall  he  act  ?     Pay  at  the  gallery  door 
Two  shillings  for  what  cost,  when  new,  but  four? 
Or  till  half-price,  to  save  his  shilling,  wait, 
And  gain  his  hat  again  at  half- past  eight  ? 
Now,  while  his  fears  anticipate  a  thief, 
John  Mullens  whispered,  "Take  my  handkerchief." 
"Thank  you,"  cries  Pat;  "but  one  won't  make  a 

line." 
"  Take  mine,"  cried  Wilson  ;  and  cried  Stokes, 

"Take  mine." 
A  motley  cable  soon  Pat  Jennings  ties, 
Where  Spitalfields  with  real  India  vies. 
Like  Iris'  bow  down  darts  the  painted  clue, 
Starr'd,  striped,  and  spotted,  yellow,  red,  and  blue. 
Old  calico,  torn  silk,  and  muslin  new. 
George  Green  below,  with  palpitating  hand, 
Loops  the  last  'kerchief  to  the  beaver's  band — 
Upsoars  the  prize  !    The  youth,  with  joy  unfeign'd, 
Regain'd  the  felt,  and  felt  what  he  regain'd  ; 
While  to  the  applauding  galleries  grateful  Pat 
Made  a  low  bow,  and  touch'd  the  ransom'd  hat. 


THE    VULTURE    AND     THE     HUSBAND- 
MAN. 

[by   LOUISA  CAROLINE.] 

By  A.  C.  Hilton. 

The  rain  was  raining  cheerfully, 

As  if  it  had  been  May, 
The  Senate  House  appeared  inside 

Unusually  gay ; 
And  this  was  strange,  because  it  was 

A  Viva- Voce  day. 


Humorous  Verse  133 

The  men  were  sitting  sulkily, 

Their  paper  work  was  done, 
They  wanted  much  to  go  away 

To  ride  or  row  or  run  ; 
"  It's  very  rude,"  they  said,  "  to  keep 

Us  here  and  spoil  our  fun." 

The  papers  they  had  finished  lay 

In  piles  of  blue  and  white, 
They  answered  everything  they  could, 

And  wrote  with  all  their  might, 
But  though  they  wrote  it  all  by  rote. 

They  did  not  write  it  right. 

The  Vulture  and  the  Husbandman 

Besides  these  piles  did  stand  ; 
They  wept  like  anything  to  see 

The  work  they  had  in  hand  : 
"  If  this  were  only  finished  up," 

Said  they,  "  it  would  be  grand  I " 

"  If  seven  D's  or  seven  C's 

We  give  to  all  the  crowd. 
Do  you  suppose,"  the  Vulture  said, 

"  That  we  could  get  them  ploughed  ?  " 
"  I  think  so,"  said  the  Husbandman 

"  But  pray  don't  talk  so  loud." 

"  Oh,  Undergraduates,  come  up," 

The  Vulture  did  beseech, 
"  And  let  us  see  if  you  can  learn 

As  well  as  we  can  teach  ; 
We  cannot  do  with  more  than  two, 

To  have  a  word  with  each." 

Two  Undergraduates  came  up, 

And  slowly  took  a  seat ; 
They  knit  their  brows,  and  bit  their  thumbs, 

As  if  they  found  them  sweet ; 


134  Humorous  Vcfsc 

And  this  was  odd,  because  you  know 
Thumbs  are  not  good  to  eat. 

"  The  time  has  come,"  the  Vulture  said, 

"  To  talk  of  many  things — 
Of  Accidence  and  Adjectives, 

And  names  of  Jewish  kings  ; 
How  many  notes  a  sackbut  has, 

And  whether  shawms  have  strings." 

"  Please,  Sir,"  the  Undergraduates  said, 

Turning  a  little  blue, 
"  We  did  not  know  that  was  the  sort 

Of  thing  we  had  to  do." 
"  We  thank  you  much,"  the  Vulture  said  ; 

"  Send  up  another  two." 

Two  more  came  up,  and  then  two  more, 
And  more,  and  more,  and  more, 

And  some  looked  upwards  at  the  roof, 
Some  down  upon  the  floor. 

But  none  were  any  wiser  than 
The  pair  that  went  before. 

"  I  weep  for  you,"  the  Vulture  said ; 

"  I  deeply  sympathize  !  " 
With  sobs  and  tears  he  gave  them  all 

D's  of  the  largest  size, 
While  at  the  Husbandman  he  winked 

One  of  his  streaming  eyes. 

"  I  think,"  observed  the  Husbandman, 
We're  getting  on  too  quick  ; 

Are  we  not  putting  down  the  D's 
A  little  bit  too  thick  ?  " 

The  Vulture  said  with  much  disgust, 
"  Their  answers  make  me  sick." 


Humorous  Vcfse  i35 

"  Now,  Undergraduates,"  he  cried, 

"  Our  fun  is  nearly  done  ; 
Will  anybody  else  come  up  ?  " 

But  answer  came  there  none  ^ 
And  this  was  scarcely  odd,  because 

They'd  ploughed  them  every  one  ! 


THE   POETS   AT   TEA. 
By  Barry  Pain. 
I. — (aiacaulay). 
Pour,  varlet,  pour  the  water, 

The  water  steaming  hot ! 
A  spoonful  for  each  man  of  us. 

Another  for  the  pot ! 
We  shall  not  drink  from  amber, 

No  Capuan  slave  shall  mix 
For  us  the  snows  of  Athos 

With  port  at  thirty-six  ; 
Whiter  than  snow  the  ciystals 

Grown  sweet  'neath  tropic  fires. 
More  rich  the  herb  of  China's  field, 
The  pasture-lands  more  fragrance  yield ; 
For  ever  let  Britannia  wield 

The  teapot  of  her  sires  ! 

II.— (TENNYSON). 
I  think  that  I  am  drawing  to  an  end  : 
For  on  a  sudden  came  a  gasp  for  breath. 
And  stretching  of  the  hands,  and  blinded  eyes. 
And  a  great  darkness  falling  on  my  soul. 
O  Hallelujah  !    .     .     .     Kindly  pass  the  milk 

III. — (savinburne). 
As  the  sin  that  was  sweet  in  the  sinning 

Is  foul  in  the  ending  thereof. 
As  the  heat  of  the  summer's  beginning 


136  Httmofoos  Verse 

Is  past  in  the  winter  of  love  : 
O  purity,  painful  and  pleading  ! 
0  coldness,  ineffably  gray  ! 

0  hear  us,  our  handmaid  unheeding, 
And  take  it  away  ! 

IV. — (cowper). 

The  cosy  fire  is  bright  and  gay, 
The  merry  kettle  boils  away 

And  hums  a  cheerful  song. 

1  smg  the  saucer  and  the  cup  ; 
Pray,  Mary,  fill  the  teapot  up. 

And  do  not  make  it  strong. 

V. — (browning). 

Tut !     Bah  !    We  take  as  another  case — 

Pass  the  bills  on  the  pills  on  the  window-sill ; 
notice  the  capsule 
(A  sick  man's  fancy,  no  doubt,  but  I  place 

Reliance  on  trade-marks.  Sir) — so  perhaps  you'll 
Excuse  the  digression — this  cup  which  I  hold 

Light-poised— Bah,  it's  spilt  in  the  bed  ! — well, 
let's  on  go — 
Hold  Bohea  and  sugar.  Sir ;  if  you  were  told 

The  sugar  was  salt,  would  the  Bohea  be  Congo  ? 

VI. — (WORDSWORTH  ). 

"  Come,  little  cottage  girl,  you  seem 

To  want  my  cup  of  tea  ; 
And  will  you  take  a  little  cream  ? 

Now  tell  the  truth  to  me." 

.   She  had  a  rustic,  woodland  grin. 
Her  cheek  was  soft  as  silk. 
And  she  replied,  "  Sir,  please  put  in 
A  little  drop  of  milk." 


Humorous  Verse  137 

"  Why,  what  put  milk  into  your  head  ? 

'Tis  cream  my  cows  supply ;  "  '• 

And  five  times  to  the  child  I  said, 

"Why,  pig-head,  tell  me,  why?" 

"  You  call  me  pig-head,"  she  replied ; 

"My  proper  name  is  Ruth. 
I  called  that  milk"— she  blushed  with  pride — 

"  You  bade  me  speak  the  truth." 

VII.— (poe). 

Here's  a  mellow  cup  of  tea— golden  tea  ! 
What  a  world  of  rapturous  thought  its  fragrance 
•  brings  to  me  ! 

Oh,  from  out  the  silver  cells 

How  it  wells ! 

How  it  smells  ! 
Keeping  tune,  tune,  tune,  tune 
To  the  tintinnabulation  of  the  spoon. 
And  the  kettle  on  the  fire 
Boils  its  spout  off  with  desire, 
With  a  desperate  desire 
And  a  crystalline  endeavour 
Now,  now  to  sit,  or  never. 
On  the  top  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 
But  he  always  came  home  to  tea,  tea,  tea,  tea,  tea, 
Tea  to  the  n  —  th. 

VIII. — (rossetti). 

The  lilies  lie  in  my  lady's  bower, 
(O  weary  mother,  drive  the  cows  to  roost), 
J  hey  faintly  droop  for  a  little  hour ; 
My  lady's  head  droops  like  a  flower. 

She  took  the  porcelain  in  her  hand 

(O  weary  mother,  drive  the  cows  to  roost) ; 


138  Humorous  Verse 

She  poured  ;  I  drank  at  her  command  ; 
Drank  deep,  and  now — you  understand  ! 
(O  weary  mother,  drive  the  cows  to  roost). 

IX. — (burns). 
Weel,  gin  ye  speir,  I'm  no  inclined, 
Whusky  or  tay — to  state  my  mind 

Fore  ane  or  ither ; 
For,  gin  I  tak  the  first,  I'm  fou, 
And  gin  the  next,  I'm  dull  as  you. 
Mix  a'  thegither. 

X. — (WALT   whitman). 

One  cup  for  my  self-hood. 

Many  for  you.  Allons,  camerados,  we  will  drink 
together, 

O  hand-in-hand !  That  tea-spoon,  please,  when 
you've  done  with  it. 

What  butter-colour'd  hair  you've  got.  I  don't 
want  to  be  personal. 

All  right,  then,  you  needn't.  You're  a  stale- 
cadaver. 

Eighteen-pence  if  the  bottles  are  returned. 

Allons,  from  all  bat-eyed  formules. 


OCTOPUS. 

[by  ALGERNON  CHARLES  SIN-BURN.] 

By  A.  C.  Hilton. 
Strange  beauty,  eight-limbed  and  eight-handed. 

Whence  earnest  to  dazzle  our  eyes  ? 
With  thy  bosom  bespangled  and  banded 

With  the  hues  of  the  seas  and  the  skies  ; 
Is  thy  home  European  or  Asian, 

O  mystical  monster  marine  ? 
Part  molluscous  and  partly  crustacean, 

Betwixt  and  between. 


Humorous  Verse  139 

Wast  thou  born  to  the  sound  of  sea  trumpets  ? 

Hast  thou  eaten  and  drunk  to  excess 
Of  the  sponges — thy  muffins  and  crumpets, 

Of  the  seaweed — thy  mustard  and  cress  ? 
Wast  thou  nurtured  in  caverns  of  coral, 

Remote  from  reproof  or  restraint  ? 
Art  thou  innocent,  art  thou  immoral, 

Sinburnian  or  Saint  ? 


Lithe  limbs,  curling  free,  as  a  creeper 

That  creeps  in  a  desolate  place, 
To  enrol  and  envelop  the  sleeper 

In  a  silent  and  stealthy  embrace  ; 
Cruel  beak  craning  forward  to  bite  us. 

Our  juices  to  drain  and  to  drink, 
Or  to  whelm  us  in  waves  of  Cocytus, 

Indelible  ink  ! 


O  breast,  that  'twere  rapture  to  writhe  on  \ 

O  arms  'twere  delicious  to  feel 
Clinging  close  with  the  crush  of  the  Python, 

When  she  maketh  her  murderous  meal  ! 
In  thy  eight-fold  embraces  enfolden, 

Let  our  empty  existence  escape  ; 
Give  us  death  that  is  glorious  and  golden, 

Crushed  all  out  of  shape  ! 

Ah,  thy  red  lips,  lascivious  and  luscious 

With  death  in  their  amorous  kiss  ! 
Cling  round  us,  and  clasp  us,  and  crush  us, 

With  bitings  of  agonized  bliss  ; 
We  are  sick  with  the  poison  of  pleasure, 

Dispense  us  the  potion  of  pain  ; 
Ope  thy  mouth  to  its  uttermost  measure. 

And  bite  us  again  ! 


I40  Humorous  Verse 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  COCK. 

[After  Mr.  George  Meredith's  "  Odes  in  Contribution  to 
tlie  Song  of  French.  History."] 

By  Owen  Seaman. 

I 
Rooster  her  sign, 
Rooster  her  pugnant  note,  she  struts 
Evocative,  amazon  spurs  aprick  at  heel ; 
Nid-nod  the  authentic  stump 
Of  the  once  ensanguined  comb  vermeil  as  wine  ; 
With  conspuent  doodle-doo 

Hails  breach  o'  the  hectic  dawn  of  yon  New  Year 
Last  issue  up  to  date 
Of  quiverful  Fate 

Evolved  spontaneous ;  hails  with  tonant  trump 
The  spiriting  prime  o'  the  clashed  carillon-peal ; 
Rufifiing  her  caudal  plumes  derisive  of  scuts  ; 
Inconscient    how    she    stalks    an    immarcessibly 

absurd 
Bird. 

II. 

Mark  where  her  Equatorial  Pioneer* 

Delirant  on  the  tramp  goes  littoral  wise. 

His   Flag  at  furl,  portmanteaued  ;   drains  to   the 

dregs 
The  penultimate  brandy-bottle,t  coal-on-the-head- 

piece  gift 
Of  who  avenged  the  Old  Sea-Rover's  smirch. 
Marchant  he  treads  the  ail-along  of  inarable  drift 
On  dubiously  connivent  legs. 
The  facile  prey  of  predatory  flies  ; 

*  Major  Marchand. 

+  Presented  by  Lord  (then   Sir  Herbert)  Kitchener  after  the 
capture  ot  Khartoum. 


Humorous  Verse  141 

Panting  for  further ;  sworn  to  lurch 

Empirical  on  to  the   Menelik-buffered,  enhavened 

blue, 
Rhyming — see  Cantique  I.— with  doodle-doo. 


III. 

Infuriate  she  kicked  against  Imperial  fact ; 

Vulnant  she  felt 

What  pin-stab  should  have  stained  Another's  pelt 

Puncture  her  own  Colonial  lung-balloon, 

Volant  to  nigh  meridian.     Whence  rebuffed. 

The  perjured  Scythian*  she  lacked 

At  need's  pinch,  sick  with  spleen  of  the  rudely 

cuffed 
Below  her  breath  she  cursed ;  she  cursed  the  hour 
When  on  her  spring  for  him  the  young  Tyrannical 

broke 
Amid  the  unhallowed  wedlock's  vodka-shower, 
She  passionate,  he  dispassionate  ;  tricked 
Her  wits  to  eye-blind  ;  borrowed  the  ready  as  for 

dower  ; 
Till  from  the  trance  of  that  Hymettus-moon 
She  woke, 

A  nuptial-knotted  derelict ; 
Pensioned  with  Rescripts  other  aid  declined 
By  the  plumped  leech  saturate  urging  Peacef 
In  guise  of  heavy  armed  Gospeller  to  men, 
Tyrannical  unto  fraternal  equal  liberal,  her.     Not 

she  ; 
Not  till  Alsace  her  consanguineous  find 
What  red  deteutonising  artillery 
Shall  shatter  her  beer-reek  alien  police 
The  just-now  pluripollent ;  not  till  then. 

•  Reference  to  the  Franco-Russian  alliance. 
+  At  the  Hague  Convention. 


142  Humofoos  Verse 


IV. 

More  pungent  yet  the  esoteric  pain 

Squeezing  her  pliable  vitals  nourishes  feud* 

Insanely  grumous,  grumously  insane. 

For  lo  ! 

Past  common  balmy  on  the  Bordereau, 

Churns  she  the  skim  o'  the  gutter's  crust 

With  Anti-Judaic  various  carmagnole, 

Whooped  praise  of  the  Anti-Just ; 

Her  boulevard  brood 

Gyratory  in  convolvements  militant-mad  ; 

Theatrical  of  faith  in  the  Belliform, 

Her  Og, 

Her  Monstrous.     Fled  what  force  she  had 

To  buckle  the  jaw-gape,  wide  agog 

For  the  Preconcerted  One, 

The  Anticipated,  ripe  to  clinch  the  whole ; 

Queen-bee  to  hive  the  hither  and  thither  volant 

swarm. 
Bides  she  his  coming ;  adumbrates  the  new 
Expurgatorial  Divine, 
Her  final  effulgent  Avatar, 
Postured  outside  a  trampling  mastodon 
Black  as  her  Baker'sf  charger ;  towering  ;  visibly 

gorged 
With  blood  of  traitors.     Knee-grip  stiff. 
Spine  straightened,  on  he  rides  ; 
Embossed  the  Patriot's  brow  with  hieroglyph 
Of  martial  dossiers,  nothing  forged 
About  him  save  his  armour.     So  she  bides 
Voicing  his  advent  indeterminably  far, 
Rooster  her  sign, 
Rooster  her  conspuent  doodle-doo. 

*  Over  the  Dreyfus  case. 
+  Boulanjjcr. 


Humorous  Verse  143 

V. 

Behold  her,  pranked  with  spurs  for  bloody  sport, 

How  she  acclaims, 

A  crapulous  chanticleer. 

Breech  of  the  hectic  dawn  of  yon  New  Year. 

Not  yet  her  fill  of  rumours  sucked  ; 

Inebriate  of  honour ;  blushfully  wroth  ; 

Tireless  to  play  her  old  primaeval  games  ; 

Her  plumage  preened  the  yet  unplucked. 

Like  sails  of  a  galleon,  rudder  hard  amort 

With  crepitant  mast 

Fronting  the  hazard  to  dare  of  a  dual  blast 

The  intern  and  the  extern,  blizzards  both. 


CULTURE  IN  THE  SLUMS. 

(Inscribed  to  an  Intense  Poet.) 

By  W.    E.     Henley. 

.       RONDEAU. 

*'  O  CRIKEY,  Bill  ! "  she  ses  to  me,  she  ses. 

"Look    sharp,"  ses    she,   "with  them  there 
sossiges. 
Yea  I  sharp  with  them  there  bags  of  mysteree  ! 
For  lo  ! "  she  ses,  "  for  lo  !  old  pal,"  ses  she, 

"  I'm  blooming    peckish,    neither   more    nor 
less." 

Was  it  not  prime— I  leave  you  all  to  guess 

How  prime  ! to  have  a  Jude  in  love's  distress 

Come      spooning     round,     and     murmuring 
balmilee, 

"  O  crikey.  Bill !  " 

For  in  such  rorty  wise  doth  Love  express 

His  blooming  views,  and  asks  for  your  address, 


144  Hamorotts  Verse 

And  makes  it  right,  and  does  the  gay  and 

free. 
I  kissed  her  -I  did  so  !     And  her  and  me 
Was  pals.     And  if  that  ain't  good  business, 

"  O  crikey  Bill  ! " 

II.      VILLANELLE. 

Now  ain't  they  utterly  too-too 

(She  ses,  my  Missus  mine,  ses  she). 
Them  flymy  little  bits  of  Blue. 

Joe,  just  you  kool  'em  —nice  and  skew 

Upon  our  old  meogginee. 
Now  ain't  they  utterly  too-too  ? 

They're  better  than  a  pot'n'  a  screw, 

They're  equal  to  a  Sunday  spree. 
Them  flymy  little  bits  of  Blue  ! 

Suppose  I  put  'em  up  the  flue, 

And  booze  the  profits,  Joe  ?     Not  me. 
Now  ain't  they  utterly  too-too  ? 

I  do  the  'I gh  Art  fake,  I  do. 

Joe,  I'm  consummite;  and  I  see 
Them  flymy  little  bits  of  Blue. 

Which  Joe,  is  why  I  ses  ter  you — 

yEsthetic-like,  and  limp,  and  free — 
Now  «/«'/,  they  utterly  too-too, 
Them  flymy  little  bits  of  Blue  ? 

III.      BALLADE. 

I  often  does  a  quiet  read 

At  Booty  Shelly's  poetry  ; 
I  thinks  that  Swinburne  at  a  screed 

Is  really  almost  too  too  fly  ; 

At  Signor  Vagna's  harmony 


I 


Humorous  Verse  i45 

I  likes  a  merry  little  flutter  ; 

I've  had  at  Pater  many  a  shy  ; 
In  fact,  my  form's  the  Bloomin'  Utter. 

My  mark's  a  tidy  little  feed, 

And  'Enery  Irving's  gallery, 
To  see  old  'Amlick  do  a  bleed. 

And  Ellen  Terry  on  the  die, 

Or  Frankey's  ghostes  at  hi-spy, 
And  parties  carried  on  a  shutter. 

Them  vulgar  Coupeaus  is  my  eye  ! 
In  fact  my  form's  the  Bloomin'  Utter. 

The  Grosvenor's  nuts — it  is,  indeed ! 

I  goes  for  'Olman  'Unt  like  pie. 
It's  equal  to  a  friendly  lead 

To  see  B.  Jones's  judes  go  by. 

Stanhope  he  make  me  fit  to  cry. 
Whistler  he  makes  me  melt  like  butter. 

Strudwick  he  makes  me  flash  my  cly — 
In  fact,  my  form's  the  Bloomin'  Utter. 

Envoy. 

I'm  on  for  any  Art  that's  'Igh  ; 
I  talks  as  quiet  as  I  can  splutter  ; 

I  keeps  a  Dado  on  the  sly  ; 
In  fact,  my  form's  the  Bloomin'  Utter. 

MARTIN  LUTHER  AT  POTSDAM. 

By  Barry  Pain. 

What   lightning  shall  light  it?    What   thunder 
shall  tell  it 
In  the  height  of  the  height,  in  the  depth  of  the 
deep  ? 
Shall  the  sea-storm  declare  it,  or  paint  it,  or  smell 
it? 
Shall  the  price  of  a  shave  be  its  treasure  to  keep  ? 

L 


146  Humorous  Verse 

When  the  night  has  grown  near  with  the  gems  on 
her  bosom, 
When  the  white  of  mine  eyes  is  the  whiteness 
of  snow, 
When  the  cabman — in  liquor— drives  a  blue  roan, 
a  kicker. 
Into  the  land  of  the  dear  long  ago. 

Ah  ! — Ah,  again  ! — You  will  come  to  me,  fall  on 
me — 
You  are  so  heavy,  and  I  am  so  flat. 
And  I  ?     I  shall  not  be  at  home  when  you  call  on 
me, 
But  stray  down  the  wind  like  a  gentleman's  hat : 
I  shall  list  to  the  stars  when  the  music  is  purple, 

Be  drawn  through  a  pipe,  and  exhaled  into  rings ; 
Turn  to  sparks,  and  then  straightway  get  stuck  in 
the  gateway 
That  stands  between  speech  and  unspeakable 
things. 

As  I  mentioned  before,  by  what  light  is  it  lighted  ? 

Oh  !  Is  it  fourpence,  or  piebald,  or  gray  ? 
Is  it  a  mayor  that  a  mother  has  knighted, 

Or  is  it  a  horse  of  the  sun  and  the  day  1 
Is  it  a  pony  ?     If  so,  who  will  change  it  ? 

O  golfer,  be  quiet,  and  mark  where  it  scuds. 
And  think  of  its  paces — of  owners  and  races  — 

Relinquish  the  links  for  the  study  of  studs. 

Not   understood  ?     Take   me   hence !     Take   me 
yonder ! 

Take  me  away  to  the  land  of  my  rest — 
There  where  the  Ganges  and  other  gees  wander, 

And  uncles  and  antelopes  act  for  the  best, 
And  all  things  are  mixed  and  run  into  each  other 

In  a  violet  twilight  of  virtues  and  sins, 


Humorous  Verse  i47 

With  the  church-spires  below  you  and  no  one  to 
show  you 
Where  the  curate  leaves  off  and  the  pew-rent 
begins ! 

In  the   black  night  through   the  rank  grass  the 
snakes  peer — - 

The  cobs  and  the  cobras  are  partial  to  grass — 
And  a  boy   wanders    out   with   a   knowledge   of 
Shakespeare 

That's  not  often  found  in  a  boy  of  his  class, 
And  a  girl  wanders  out  without  any  knowledge, 

And  a  bird  wanders  out,  and  a  cow  wanders  out, 
Likewise  one  wether,  and  they  wander  together — 

There's  a  good  deal  of  wandering  lying  about. 

But  it's  all  for  the  best ;  I've  been  told  by  my 
friends,  Sir, 
That   in  verses    I'd   written    the   meaning  was 
slight ; 
I've  tried  with  no  meaning — to  make  'em  amends, 
Sir— 
And  find  that  this  kind's  still  more  easy  to  write. 
The  title  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  verses, 

But  think  of  the  millions — the  labourers  who 
In  busy  employment  find  deepest  enjoyment. 
And  yet,  like  my  title,  have  nothing  to  do  ! 


BURGLAR   BILL. 

A  RECITATION. 

By  F.  Anstey. 

The  compiler  would  not  be  acting  fairly  by  the 
young  Reciter  if,  in  recommending  the  following 
poem  as  a  subject  for  earnest  study,  he  did  not 


148  Humorous  Verse 

caution  him — or  her — not  to  be  betrayed  by  the 
apparent  simplicity  of  this  exercise  into  the  grave 
error  of  under-estimating  its  real  difficulty. 

It  is  true  that  it  is  an  illustration  of  Pathos  of  an 
elementary  order  (we  shall  reach  the  advanced 
kind  at  a  later  stage),  but,  for  all  that,  this  piece 
bristles  with  as  many  points  as  a  porcupine,  and 
consequently  requires  the  most  cautious  and 
careful  handling. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  is  perhaps  better  suited  to 
students  of  the  softer  sex. 

Announce  the  title  with  a  suggestion  of  shy 
innocence — in  this  way  : — 

B  U  RG  L A  R  [now  o;pen  both  eyes  very  wide]  BILL. 
\Then  go  on  in  a  hushed  voice,  and  with  an  air 
of  wonder  at  the  worlds  iniquity. '\ 

I. 

Through  a  window  in  the  attic 
Brawny  Burglar  Bill  has  crept ; 

Seeking  stealthily  a  chamber 
Where  the  jewellery  is  kept. 
\_Pronounce  either  '"'jewelry^''  or  '^joolery"  ac- 
cording to  taste. 

II. 
He  is  furnished  with  a  "jemmy," 

Centre-bit,  and  carpet-bag, 
For  the  latter  "  comes  in  handy," 
So  he  says,  "to  stow  the  swag." 
'■'^ Jemmy"  "■  centre- bit"  ^^ carpet-bag"  are  im- 
portant words— fiut  good  colouring  into 
them. 

III. 
Here,  upon  the  second  landing, 
He,  secure,  may  work  his    will : 


Humorous  Verse  149 

Down  below's  a  dinner-party, 
Up  above — the  house  is  still. 
\_Here  start  and  extend  first  finger,  remember- 
ing to  make  it  waggle  slightly,  as  Jront 
fear. 

IV. 

Suddenly — in  spell-bound  horror, 

All  his  satisfaction  ends  — 
For  a  little  white-robed  figure 
By  the  banister  descends  ! 
[  This  last  line  requires  care  in  delivery,  or  it 
may  be  imagined  that  the  little  figure  is 
sliding  DOWN  the  banisters,  which  would 
simply  ruin  the  effect.     Note  the  bold  but 
classic  use  of  the  singular  in  "  banister^'' 
which  is  more  pleasing  to  a  nice  ear  than 
the  ;plural. 

V. 

Bill  has  reached  for  his  revolver, 

[Business  here  with  your  fan. 

Yet — he  hesitates  to  fire.     .     .     . 
Child  is  it?  \_in  a  dread  whisper']  or — apparition, 

That  provokes  him  to  perspire  ? 

VI. 
Can  it  be  his  guardian  angel, 
Sent  to  stay  his  hand  from  crime  ? 

[/«  a  tone  oj  awe. 
He  could  wish  she  had  selected. 
Some  more  seasonable  time  ! 

[  Touch  of  peevish  discontent  here. 

VII. 

"  Go  away  !"  he  whispers  hoarsely, 
"  Burglars  hev  their  bread  to  earn. 

I  don't  need  no  Gordian  angel 
Givin'  of  me  sech  a  turn  /  " 


150  Humorous  Verse 

[^Shudder  here,  and  retreat,  shielding  eyes  with 
hand. 

[Now  change  your  manner  to  a  naive  surprise; 
this,  in  spite  of  anything  we  may  have  said 
previously,  is  in  this  particular  instance, 
NOT  best  itidicated  by  a  shrill  falsetto. 

VIII. 

But  the  blue  eyes  open  wider, 
Ruby  lips  reveal  their  pearl ; 
\This  must  not  be  taken  to  refer  to  the  Burglar. 
"  I  is  not  a  Garden  anzel, 
Only — dust  a  yickle  dirl ! 
\Be  particularly  artless  here  and  through  next 
stanza. 

IX. 

"On  the  thtairs  to  thit  I'm  doin' 

Till  the  tarts  and  dellies  turn ; 
Partinthon  (our  butler)  alwayth 

Thaves  for  Baby  Bella  thome  ! 

X. 
"Poor  man,  '00  is  yookin'  'ungwy — 

Leave  '00  burgling  fings  up  dere  ; 
Tum  viz  me  and  share  the  sweeties, 

Thitting  on  the  bottom  thtair!" 

\In  rendering  the  above  the  young  Reciter  should 
strive  to  be  idiomatic  without  ever  becoming 
idiotic — which  is  not  so  easy  as  might  be 
imagined. 

XI, 

"  Reely,  Miss,  you  must  excoose  me  ! " 
Says  the  Burglar  with  a  jerk  : 
\l71dicate  embarrassment    here    by   smoothing 
down  the  folds  of  your  gown,  and  swaying 
awkwardly . 


Humorous  Verse  151 

"  Dooty  calls,  and  time  is  pressing ; 
I  must  set  about  my  work ! " 

{This  with  a  gruff  conscientiousness. 

XII. 

\_Now  assume  your  wide- eyed  innocence  again. 
"  Is  '00  work  to  bweak  in  houses  ? 

Nana  told  me  so,  I'm  sure  ! 
Will  '00  if '00  can  manage 

To  bweak  in  my  doll's  house  door  ? 

XIII. 

"  I  tan  never  det  it  undone. 

So  my  dollies  tan't  det  out ; 
They  don't  yz'he  the  fwont  to  open 

Every  time  they'd  walk  about ! 

XIV. 
"Twy,  and — if '00  does  it  nithely — 
When  I'm  thent  upthtairs  to  thleep, 

\_Don't  overdo  the  lisp. 
I  will  bwing  '00  up  thome  doodies, 
'Oo  shall  have  them  all  —to  keep  ! " 

XV. 

{Pause  here ;    then,  with   intetise  feeling  o.nd 
sympathy — 
Off  the  little  "angel"  flutters  ; 

{^Delicate  stress  on  "  angel." 
But  the  burglar — wipes  his  brow. 
He  is  wholly  unaccustomed 
To  a  kindly  greeting  now  ! 

{Trejnble  in  voice  here. 

XVI. 

Never  with  a  smile  of  welcome 

Has  he  seen  his  entrance  met ! 
Nobody — except  the  policeman —     {Bitterly. 

Ever  wanted  him  as  yet ! 


152  HumofOtts  Vcfsc 

XVII. 
Many  a  stately  home  he's  entered, 

But,  with  unobtrusive  tact, 
He  has  ne'er,  in  paying  visits. 

Called  attention  to  the  fact. 

XVIII. 

Gain  he  counts  it,  on  departing. 

Should  he  have  avoided  strife. 

[/«  tone  of  passionate  lament — 
Ah,  my  Brothers,  but  the  Burglar's 

Is  a  sad,  a  lonely  life  ! 

XIX. 

All  forgotten  now  the  jewels. 
Once  the  purpose  of  his  "job  "  ; 

Down  he  sinks  upon  the  door-mat. 
With  a  deep  and  choking  sob. 

XX. 

Then,  the  infant's  plea  recalling. 

Seeks  the  nursery  above  ; 
Looking  for  the  Lilliputian 

Crib  he  is  to  crack — for  love  ! 

[It  t's  more  usually  done  for  Money. 

XXI. 

In  the  corner  stands  the  Dolls'-house, 

Gaily  painted  green  and  red  ; 

[  Colouring  again  here. 
And  its  door  declines  to  open. 

Even  as  the  child  has  said ! 

XXII. 

Forth  come  centre-bit  and  jemmy  :  {^Briskly. 

All  his  implements  are  plied  ; 

\^En  thusiastically — 
Never  has  he  burgled  better  ! 

As  he  feels,  with  honest  pride. 


Humorous  Verse  153 

XXIII. 

Deftly  is  the  task  accomplished, 

For  the  door  will  open  well ; 
When — a  childish  voice  behind  him 

Breaks  the  silence — like  a  bell. 

XXIV. 

"  Sank  '00,  Misser  Burglar,  sank  '00  I 
And,  betause  'oo's  been  so  nice, 

See  what  I  have  dot — a  tartlet ! 
Gweat  big  gweedies  ate  the  ice." 

\_Resentful  accent  on  "  «/(?." 

XXV. 

"  Papa  says  he  wants  to  see  '00, 

Partinthon  is  tummin  too — 
Tan't  '00  wait ! " 
{This  with  guileless  surprise — then  change  to 
a  husky  emotion. 

"  Well,  not  this  evenin', 
So,  my  little  dear, — \brtisquely\  a  doo  ! " 

XXVI. 

\You  are  now  to  produce  your  greatest  effect ; 
the  audience  should  be  made  actually  to  SEE 
the  poor  hunted  victim  of  social  prejudice 
escaping,  consoled  in  the  very  act  of  plight 
by  memories  op  this  last  adventure — the  one 
bright  and  cheering  episode,  possibly,  in 
his  entire  professional  career. 
Fast  he  speeds  across  the  housetops  !  — 

{Rapid  delivery  for  this. 

{Very gently r\     But  his  bosom  throbs  with  bliss, 
For  upon  his  rough  lips  linger 
Traces  of  a  baby's  kiss. 


154  Hwmorous  Verse 

l_Mos^  delicate  treatment  will  be  necessary  in 
the  last  couplet — or  the  andietice  may 
understand  it  in  a  painfully  literal  sense. 


{_Vou  have  nothing  before  you  now  but  the 
finale.  Make  the  contrast  as  marked  as 
possible. 

XXVII. 
Dreamily  on  downy  pillow 

[_Soft  musical  intonation  for  this. 
Baby  Bella  murmurs  sweet : 

[Smile  here  with  sleepy  tenderness. 
"  Burglar — turn  adain,  and  thee  me     .     .     . 
I  will  dive  'oo  cakes  to  eat ! " 

\That  is  one  side  of  the  medal-— now  for  the 
other. 

XXVIII. 

\flarsh  but  emotional. 

In  a  garret,  worn,  and  weary, 
Burglar  Bill  has  sunk  to  rest, 

Clasping  tenderly  a  damson- 
Tartlet  to  his  burly  breast. 

\_Dwell  lovingly  upon  the  word  "tartlet" — 
which  you  should  press  ho7ne  upon  etiery 
one  of  your  hearers^  remembering  to  fold 
your  hands  lightly  over  your  breast  as  you 
co7icbide.  Jf  you  do  not  fitid  that  several 
susceptible  and  eligible  bachelors  have 
been  knocked  completely  out  of  time  by 
this  little  recitation,  you  will  have  made 
less  progress  in  your  Art  than  may  be 
confidently  anticipated. 


Humorous  Verse  155 

HERE   IS   THE   TALE. 

By  Anthony  C.  Deane. 

After  RuDYARD  Kipling. 

Here  is  the  tale—  and  you  must  make  the  most  of  it ! 

Here  is  the  rhyme — ah,  listen  and  attend! 
Backwards— forwards — read  it  all  and  boast  of  it 

If  you  are  anything  the  wiser  at  the  end ! 

Now  Jack  looked  up — it  was  time  to  sup,  and  the 

bucket  was  yet  to  fill, 
And  Jack  looked  round  for  a  space  and  frowned? 

then  beckoned  his  sister  Jill, 
And  twice  he  pulled  his  sister's  hair,  and  thrice  he 

smote  her  side ; 
"  Ha'  done,  ha'  done  with  your  impudent  fun — ha' 

done  with  your  games  ! "  she  cried  ; 
"  You  have  made  mud-pies  of  a  marvellous  size — 

finger  and  face  are  black, 
You  have  trodden  the  Way  of  the  Mire  and  Clay 

— now  up  and  wash  you.  Jack  ! 
Or  else,  or  ever  we  reach  our  home,  there  waiteth 

an  angry  dame — 
Well  you  know  the  weight  of  her  blow — the  supper- 
less  open  shame  ! 
Wash,  if  you  will,  on  yonder  hill — wash,  if  you 

will,  at  the  spring, — 
Or  keep  your  dirt,  to  your  certain  hurt,  and  an 

imminent  walloping !  " 

"  You   must   wash — you    must    scrub — you    must 

scrape  !  "  growled  Jack,  "you  must  traffic  with 

cans  and  pails, 
Nor  keep  the  spoil  of  the  good  brown  soil  in  the 

rim  of  your  finger-nails  ! 
The  morning  path  you  must  tread  to  your  bath — 

you  must  wash  ere  the  night  descends. 


156  Humorous  Verse 

And  all  for  the  cause  of  conventional  laws  and  the 

soapmakers'  dividends ! 
But  if  'tis  sooth  that  our  meal  in  truth  depends  on 

our  washing,  Jill, 
By  the  sacred  right  of  our  appetite— haste— haste 

to  the  top  of  the  hill!" 

They  have  trodden  the  Way  of  the  Mire  and  Clay, 

they  have  toiled  and  travelled  far, 
They  have  climbed  to  the  brow  of  the  hill-top  now? 

where  the  bubbling  fountains  are, 
They  have  taken  the  bucket  and  filled  it  up — yea, 

filled  it  up  to  the  brim  ; 
But  Jack  he  sneered  at  his  sister  Jill,  and  Jill  she 

jeered  at  him  : 
"What,  blown  already  !"  Jack  cried  out  (and  his 

was  a  biting  mirth  !) 
"  You  boast  indeed  of  your  wonderful  speed — but 

what  is  the  boasting  worth  ? 
Now,  if  you  can  run  as  the  antelope  runs,  and  if 

you  can  turn  like  a  hare, 
Come,  race  me,  Jill,  to  the  foot  of  the  hill — and 

prove  your  boasting  fair  !  " 

"  Race  ?     What  is  a  race  "  (and  a  mocking  face  had 

Jill  as  she  spake  the  word) 
"  Unless  for  a  prize  the  runner  tries  ?      The  truth 

indeed  ye  heard. 
For  I  can  run  as  the  antelope  runs,  and  I  can  turn 

like  a  hare  : — 
The  first  one  down  wins  half-a-crown — and  I  will 

race  you  there  ! " 
"  Yea,  if  for  the   lesson   that   you  will  learn  (the 

lesson  of  humbled  pride) 
The  price  you  fix  at  two-and-six,  it  shall  not  be 

denied  ; 
Come,  take  your  stand  at  my  right  hand,  for  here 

is  the  mark  we  toe  : 
Now,  are  you  ready,  and  are  you  steady?    Gird  up 

your  petticoats  !     Go  ! " 


Humorous  Verse  157 

And  Jill  she  ran  like  a  winging  bolt,  a  bolt  from 

the  bow  released, 
But  Jack  like  a  stream  of  the   lightning  gleam, 

with  its  pathway  duly  greased  ; 
He  ran  down  hill  in  front  of  Jill  like  a  summer- 
lightning  flash  — 
Till  he  suddenly  tripped  on  a  stone,  or  slipped, 

and  fell  to  the  earth  with  a  crash. 
Then  straight  did  rise  on  his  wondering  eyes  the 

constellations  fair, 
Arcturus  and  the  Pleiades,  the  Greater  and  Lesser 

Bear, 
The  swirling  rain  of  a  comet's  train  he  saw,  as  he 

swiftly  fell — 
And  Jill  came  tumbling  after    him    with    a    loud 

triumphant  yell  : 
"  You  have  won,  you  have  won,  the  race  is  done  ! 

And  as  for  the  wager  laid — 
You  have  fallen  down  with  a  broken  crown — the 

half-crown  debt  is  paid  I " 


They  have  taken  Jack  to    the  room  at  the  back 

where  the  family  medicines  are, 
And  he  lies  in  bed  with  a  broken  head  in  a  halo  of 

vinegar ; 
While,   in  that  Jill   had   laughed  her  fill    as    her 

brother  fell  to  earth. 
She  had  felt  the  sting  of  a  walloping— she  hath 

paid  the  price  of  her  mirth  ! 

Here  is  the  tale — and  now  you  have  the  whole 
of  it. 
Here  is  the  story — well  and  wisely  planned, 
Beauty — Duty     these  make  up  the  soul  of  it — 
But,  ah,  my  little  readers,  will  you  mark  and 
understand  f 


158  Humorous  Verse 

TO   MR.   ALFRED   AUSTIN. 

[In  Imitation  of  the  Poet  Laureate's  Jubilee  Ode.] 

By  Owen  Seaman. 

I. 
The  early  bird  got  up  and  whet  his  beak  ; 

The  early  worm  awoke,  an  easy  prey  ; 
This  happened  any  morning  in  the  week, 
Much  as  to-day. 

II. 
The  moke  uplift  for  joy  his  hinder  hoof; 

Shivered  the  fancy-poodle,  freshly  shorn  ; 
The  prodigal  upon  the  attic-roof 
Mewed  to  the  morn. 

III. 
His  virile  note  the  cock  profusely  blew  ; 

The  beetle  trotted  down  the  kitchen  tong  ; 
The  early  bird  above  alluded  to 
Was  going  strong. 

IV. 

All  this  of  course  refers  to  England's  isle. 

But  things  were  going  on  across  the  deep  ; 
In  Egypt — take  a  case — the  crocodile 
Was  sound  asleep. 

V. 

Buzzed  the  Hymettian  bee ;  sat  up  in  bed 
The  foreign  oyster  sipping  local  drains  ; 
The  impious  cassowary  lay  like  lead 
On  Afric's  plains. 

VI. 

A-nutting  went  the  nimble  chimpanzee  ; — 
And  what,  you  ask  me,  am  I  driving  at  ? 
Wait  on ;  in  less  than  twenty  minutes  we 
Shall  come  to  that. 


Humorous  Verse  i59^ 

vir. 
The  bulbous  crowfoot  drained  his  dewy  cup  ; 

The  saxifrage  enjoyed  a  morning  crawl ; 
The  ampelopsis  slowly  sidled  up 
The  garden  wall. 

VIII. 
Her  petals  wide  the  periwinkle  flung; 

Blue  gentian  winked  upon  unweaned  lambs  ; 
And  there  was  quite  a  pleasant  stir  among 
The  cryptogams. 

IX. 

May  was  the  month  alike  in  croft  and  wild, 

When  —here,  in  fact,  begins  the  actual  tale — 
When  forth  withal  there  came  an  infant  child, 
A  healthy  male. 

X. 

Marred  was  his  ruby  countenance,  as  when 

A  blushing  peony  is  moist  with  rain  ; 
And  first  he  strenuously  kicked,  and  then 
He  kicked  again. 
XI. 

They  put  the  bays  upon  hig  barren  crest, 

Laid  on  his  lap  a  lexicon  of  rhyme. 
Saying — "  You  shall  with  luck  attain  the  quest 
In  course  of  time." 

XII. 

Stolid  he  gazed,  as  one  that  may  not  know 
The  meaning  of  a  presage— or  is  bored  ; 
But  when  he  loosed  his  lips  it  was  as  though 
The  sea  that  roared. 

XIII. 

That  dreadful  summons  to  a  higher  place 

He  would  not,  if  he  could,  have  spurned  away ; 
But,  being  a  babe,  he  had,  in  any  case. 
Nothing  to  say. 


i6o  Humofoas  Verse 

XIV. 

So  they  continued  :  — "  Yes,  on  you  shall  fall 
The  laurels  ;  you  shall  clamber  by-and-by 
Where  Southey  sits,  where  lately  sat  withal 
The  poet  Pye. 

XV. 

*'  As  yet  you  are  not  equal  to  the  task ; 

A  sense  of  euphony  you  still  must  lack  ; 
Nor  could  you  do  your  duty  by  the  cask 
Of  yearly  sack. 

XVI. 
"  Just  now,  withal  (that's  twice  we've  said  '  withal '), 

The  place  is  filled  by  some  one  sitting  there ; 
Yet  poets  pass  ;  he,  too,  will  leave  his  stall 
And  go  elsewhere. 

XVII. 

"  Meanwhile,  to  trust  you  with  a  pointed  pen, 

Dear  babe,  would  manifestly  be  absurd  ; 
Besides  all  well-conducted  little  men 
Are  seen,  not  heard. 

XVIII. 
"  First,  how  to  tutor  your  prehensile  mind 
Shall  be  the  object  of  our  deep  concern  ; 
We'll  teach  you  grammar ;  grammar^  you  will 
find, 

Takes  years  to  learn. 

XIX. 
'"Twixt — mark  the  pretty  word — 'twixt  boyand  man 
You  shall  collate  from  every  source  that's  known 
A  blended  style ;  which  may  be  better  than 
One  of  your  own. 


Humorous  Verse  i6i 

XX. 

"  Your  classic  mould  shall  be  completely  mixed 

Of  Rome's  robustness  and  the  grace  of  Greece  ; 
And  you  shall  be  a  Tory,  planted  'twixt 
Plenty  and  peace. 

XXI. 

"  And  lo  !  we  call  you  Alfred  !  Kinglihood 

Lies  in  the  name  of  Him,  the  Good  and  Great ! 
You  may  not  rise  to  greatness  ;  O  be  good 
At  any  rate  ! " 

XXII. 

Eight  happy  summers  passed  and  Southey  too, 

And  one  that  had  the  pull  in  point  of  age 
Walked  in  ;  for  Alfred  still  was  struggling  through 
The  grammar-stage. 

XXIII. 

When  William  followed  out  in  Robert's  wake. 

An  alien  Alfred  filled  the  vacant  spot, 
Possibly  by  some  clerical  mistake. 
Possibly  not. 

XXIV. 
Our  friend  had  then  achieved  but  fifteen  years. 

Nor  yet  against  him  was  there  aught  to  quote  ; 
For  he  had  uttered  in  the  nation's  ears 
Not  half  a  note. 

XXV. 

Adult,  no  more  he  dreamed  the  laurel-wreath. 

But  wandered,  being  credentialled  to  the  Bar, 
There  where  the  Northern  Circuit  wheels  beneath 
The  polar  star. 

XXVI. 
One  day,  asleep  in  Court,  Apollo's  crown 

All  in  a  briefless  moment  his  he  saw  ; 
Then  cast  his  interloping  wig  adown 
And  dropped  the  Law. 

M 


1 62  Humorous  Verse 

XXVII, 

Henceforth  with  loyal  pen  he  laboured  for 

His  England  (situated  on  the  main) ; 
Wrote  in  the  tragic,  or  satiric,  or 
Some  other  vein. 

XXVIII. 

At  forty-one  he  let  his  feelings  go  : — 
"  If  he,  that  other  Alfred,  ever  die, 
And  I  am  not  appointed,  I  will  know 
The  reason  why  ! " 

XXIX. 

Some  sixteen  further  autumns  bound  their  sheaves  ; 

With  hope  deferred  wild  battle  he  had  waged, 
And  written  books.     At  last  the  laurel-leaves 
Were  disengaged. 

XXX. 

Felicitators,  bursting  through  his  bowers, 

Came  on  him  hoeing  roots.    With  mild  surprise^ 
"  Leave  me  alone,"  he  said,  "among  my  flowers 
To  botanise." 

XXXI. 

The  Prime  Elector,  Man  of  Many  Days, 

Though  Allan's*  Muse  adorned  the  Liberal  side. 
Seizing  the  swift  occasion,' left  the  bays 
Unoccupied. 

XXXII. 

The  Peer  that  followed,  having  some  regard 

For  humour,  hitherto  accounted  sin, 
Produced  a  knighthood  for  the  blameless  bard 
Of  proud  Penbryn. 

•  Radical  member  for  Gateshead. 


Humorous  Verse  163 

XXXIII. 

At  length  a  callous  Tory  chief  arose, 

Master  of  caustic  jest  and  cynic  gibe, 
Looked  round  the  Carlton  Club  and  lightly  chose 
Its  leading  scribe. 

XXXIV. 

And  so  with  heaving  heart  and  happy  tears 

Our  patient  Alfred  took  the  tardy  spoil, 
Though  spent  with  sixty  venerable  years 
Of  virtuous  toil. 

XXXV. 

And  ever,  when  marsh-marigolds  are  cheap 

And  new  potatoes  crown  the  death  of  May, 
If  memory  serve  us,  we  propose  to  keep 
His  natal  day. 

A   CHARADE. 
By  Charles  S.  Calverley. 

SiKES,  housebreaker,  of  Houndsditch, 

Habitually  swore  ; 
But  so  surpassingly  profane 

He  never  was  before. 
As  on  a  night  in  winter, 

When — softly  as  he  stole 
In  the  dim  light  from  stair  to  stair, 
Noiseless  as  boys  who  in  her  lair 
Seek  to  surprise  a  fat  old  hare — 
He  barked  his  shinbone,  unaware 

Encountering  my  whole. 

As  pours  the  Anio  plainward. 

When  rains  have  swollen  the  dykes. 

So,  with  such  noise,  poured  down  my  first 
Stirred  by  the  shin  of  Sikes. 

The  Butler  Bibulus  heard  it ; 
And  straightway  ceased  to  snore. 


164  Humorous  Verse 

And  sat  up,  like  an  egg  on  end, 
While  men  might  count  a  score : 

Then  spake  he  to  Tigerius, 
A  Buttons  bold  was  he  : 

"  Buttons,  I  think  there's  thieves  about ; 

Just  strike  a  light  and  tumble  out ; 

If  you  can't  find  one  go  without, 
And  see  what  you  may  see." 

But  now  was  all  the  household, 

Almost,  upon  its  legs, 
Each  treading  carefully  about 

As  if  they  trod  on  eggs. 
With  robe  far-streaming  issued 

Paterfamilias  forth  ; 
And  close  behind  him, — stout  and  true 

And  tender  as  the  North, — 
Came  Mrs.  P.,  supporting 

On  her  broad  arm  her  fourth. 

Betsy  the  nurse,  who  never 

From  largest  beetle  ran. 
And — conscious  p'raps  of  pleasing  caps — 

The  housemaids,  formed  the  van  : 
And  Bibulus  the  butler, 

His  calm  brows  slightly  arched ; 
(No  mortal  wight  had  ere  that  night 

Seen  him  with  shirt  unstarched ;) 
And  Bob  the  shockhaired  knifeboy. 

Wielding  two  Sheffield  blades, 
And  James  Plush  of  the  sinewy  legs, 

The  love  of  lady's  maids  : 
And  charwoman  and  chaplain 

Stood  mingled  in  a  mass, 
And  "  Things,"  thought  he  of  Houndsditch, 

"  Is  come  to  a  pretty  pass." 


Humorous  Verse  i6- 

Beyond  all  things  a  baby 

Is  to  the  schoolgirl  dear; 
Next  to  herself  the  nursemaid  loves 

Her  dashing  grenadier ; 
Only  with  life  the  sailor 

Parts  from  the  British  flag  ; 
While  one  hope  lingers,  the  cracksman's 
fingers 

Drop  not  his  hard-earned  swag. 

But,  as  hares  do  my  second 

Thro'  green  Calabria's  copses  ; 
As  females  vanish  at  the  sight 

Of  short-horns  and  of  wopses  ; 
So,  dropping  forks  and  teaspoons, 

The  pride  of  Houndsditch  fled, 
Dumbfoundered  by  the  hue  and  cry 

He'd  raised  up  overhead. 

They  gave  him — did  the  judges — 

As  much  as  was  his  due. 
And,  Saxon,  shouldst  thou  e'er  be  led 

To  deem  this  tale  untrue  ; 
Then — any  night  m  winter, 

When  the  cold  north  wind  blows. 
And  bairns  are  told  to  keep  out  cold 

By  tallowing  the  nose  : 
When  round  the  fire  the  elders 

Are  gathered  in  a  bunch, 
And  the  girls  are  doing  crochet, 

And  the  boys  are  reading  Punch : — 
Go  thou  and  look  in  Leech's  book  ; 

There  haply  shalt  thou  spy 
A  stout  man  on  a  staircase  stand. 
With  aspect  anything  but  bland, 
And  rub  his  right  shin  with  his  hand, 

To  witness  if  I  lie. 


[66  Humofoas  Verse 

THE  JOURNALIST  ABROAD. 
By  A.  D.  GODLEY 

When  Parson,  Doctor,  Don, — 

In  short,  when  all  the  nation 
Goes  gaily  off  upon 

Its  annual  vacation, 
Their  cares  professional 

No  more  avail  to  bind  them  : 
They  go  at  Pleasure's  call 

And  leave  their  trades  behind  them. 

Like  them,  departs  afar 

From  England's  fogs  and  vapours 
The  literary  star. 

The  writer  for  the  papers  : 
But  not,  like  them,  at  home 

Leaves  he  his  calling's  fetters  : 
Nought  can  release  him  from 

The  tyranny  of  Letters  ! 

When  classic  scenes  amid 

For  rest  and  peace  he  hankers, 
Afnari  aliqicid 

His  joys  cesthetic  cankers  : 
Whate'er  he  sees,  he  knows 

He  has  to  write  upon  it 
A  paragraph  of  prose 

Or  possibly  a  sonnet : 

By  mountain  lakelets  blue, 

'Mid  wild  romantic  heath,  he's 
A  martyr  always  to 

Scribendi  cacoethes  : 
The  Naiad-haunted  stream 

Or  lonely  mountain-top  he 
Considers  as  a  theme 

Available  for  "  copy." 


Humorous  Verse  167 

If  on  the  sunlit  main 

With  ardour  rapt  he  gazes, 
He's  torturing  his  brain 

For  neat  pictorial  phrases  : 
When  in  a  ship  or  boat 

He  navigates  the  briny 
(And  here  'tis  his  to  quote 

Examples  set  by  Heine) 

While  fellow-passengers 

Lie  stretched  in  mere  prostration, 
He  duly  registers 

Each  horrible  sensation — 
He  notes  his  qualms  with  care, 

And  bids  the  public  know  'em 
In  "Thoughts  on  Mai  de  Mer," 

Or  "  Nausea  :  a  Poem." 


Such  is  his  earthly  lot  : 

Nor  is  it  wholly  certam 
If  Death  for  him  or  not 

Rings  down  the  final  curtain, 
Or  if,  when  hence  he's  fled 

To  worlds  or  worse  or  better, 
He'll  send  per  Mr.  St— d 

A  crisp  descriptive  letter  ! 


THE  POET  AND  THE  CRITICS. 

By  Austin  Dobson. 

If  those  who  wield  the  Rod  forget, 
'Tis  truly — Quis  custodietf 

A  certain  Bard  (as  Bards  will  do) 
Dressed  up  his  Poems  for  Review. 


1 68  Httmofotts  Verse 

His  Type  was  plain,  his  Title  clear 

His  Frontispiece  by  Fourdrinier. 

Moreover,  he  had  on  the  Back 

A  sort  of  sheepskin  Zodiac  ;— 

A  Mask,  a  Harp,  an  Owl,— in  fine, 

A  neat  and  "  classical "  design. 

But  the  in-Side  ? — Well,  good  or  bad. 

The  Inside  was  the  best  he  had  : 

Much  Memory, — more  Imitation; — 

Some  Accidents  of  Inspiration  ; — 

Some  Essays  in  that  finer  Fashion 

Where  Fancy  takes  the  place  of  Passion  ; — 

And  some  (of  course)  more  roughly  wrought 

To  catch  the  Advocates  of  Thought. 

In  the  less-crowded  Age  of  Anne, 

Our  Bard  had  been  a  favoured  Man  ; 

Fortune,  more  chary  with  the  Sickle, 

Had  ranked  him  next  to  Garth  or  Tickell  ;- 

He  might  have  even  dared  to  hope 

A  Line's  Malignity  from  Pope  ! 

But  now,  when  Folks  are  hard  to  please, 

And  Poets  are  as  thick  as — Peas, 

The  Fates  are  not  so  prone  to  flatter. 

Unless,  indeed,  a  Friend  ....  No  Matter. 

The  Book,  then,  had  a  minor  Credit : 
The  Critics  took,  and  doubtless  read  it. 
Said  A. — These  little  Songs  display 
No  lyric  Gift ;  but  still  a  Ray, — 
A  Promise.     They  will  do  no  Harm. 
'Twas  kindly,  if  not  very  warm. 
Said  B. — The  Author  may.,  iti  titne, 
Acquire  the  Rudiments  of  Rhyfne  : 
His  Efforts  now  are  scarcely  Verse. 
This,  certainly,  could  not  be  worse. 

Sorely  discomfited,  our  Bard 
Worked  for  another  ten  Years — hard. 


Humorous  Verse  169 

Meanwhile  the  World,  unmoved,  went  on  ; 

New  Stars  shot  up,  shone  out,  were  gone ; 

Before  his  second  Volume  came 

His  Critics  had  forgot  his  Name  : 

And  who,  forsooth,  is  bound  to  know 

Each  Laureate  in  embryo  ! 

They  tried  and  tested  him,  no  less, — 

The  pure  Assayers  of  the  Press. 

Said  A. — The  Atcthor  may,  in  Time   .... 

Or  much  what  B.  had  said  of  Rhyme. 

Then  B. — Ihese  little  Songs  display   .... 

And  so  forth,  in  the  sense  of  A. 

Over  the  Bard  I  throw  a  Veil. 

There  is  no  Moral  to  this  Tale. 


THE  HOUND'S  TAIL'S  CASE. 

By  Sir  Frederick  Pollock. 

The  Plaintiff. 

O  where,  O  where  is  my  leetle  hound's  tail 

That  you've  made  of  no  worth  to  be, 
From  a  hound  of  fame,  and  Dutch  Oven  his  name. 

To  a  dog  of  low  degree  ? 
Mit  your  negligent  shove-car  trundling  around, 

You  trod  on  his  tail  full  sore  ; 
Dutch  Oven  was  worth  to  me  sixty  pound. 

And  he  never  will  course  no  more. 

H 

*  The  Railway  Com;pany. 

The  tail  and  the  claim  they  are  both  cut  short, 

You  paid  us  a  common  dog's  fee  ; 
Two  pounds  you  may  have,  and  they  lie  in  Court, 

For  the  balance  you  signed  us  free. 


17°  Humorous  Verse 

And  if  more  you  meant,  it  was  five  per  cent. 

You'd  have  paid  on  our  special  scale 
('Twould  make  shillings  threescore  and  other  four) 

To  insure  that  little  hound's  tail. 

The  Plaintiff' s  Cojinsel. 

O  where,  O  where's  our  little  case  gone  ? 

The  Company's  terms  prevail. 
The  Divisional  Court  have  made  us  their  sport 

And  mangled  and  clipped  our  tail. 
But,  though  shrewd  be  our  haps,  and  conditions  be 
traps 

When  negligent  porters  shove. 
And  we  can't  mend  the  fact,  yet  we'll  go  on  the 
Act— 

There's  a  Court  of  Appeal  above. 

The  Court  of  Appeal. 

Now  here,  O  here's  an  unanimous  voice 

Against  this  proud  Company  ; 
They  takes  your  money  and  gives  no  choice 

In  reason,  that  we  can  see ; 
But  will  break,  steal,  kill  at  their  servants'  will. 

Or  a  monstrous  rate  will  fix — 
Eighteenth  of  the  Queen,  it  shall  well  be  seen. 

Was  made  for  to  stop  such  tricks. 

The  Reporter. 

But  where,  O  where  is  the  tailless  hound, 

And  what  shall  be  done  with  he  ? 
Shall  a  place  for  him  in  the  Court  be  found, 

The  Lords  Justices'  dog  to  be? 
With  glory  increased,  a  reported  beast. 

Though  he  course  no  more  on  ground, 
He  shall  hunt  like  a  spectre  the  grasping  Director, 

Dutch  Oven  the  tailless  hound. 


Httmoroos  Verse  171 

THE   HUNDRED   BEST   BOOKS. 

By  MOSTYN   T.    PiGOTT. 

First  there's  the  Bible, 

And  then  the  Koran, 
Odgers  on  Libel, 

Pope's  Essay  on  Man, 
Confessions  of  Rousseau, 

The  Essays  of  Lamb, 
Robinson  Crusoe 

And  Omar  Khayyam, 
Volumes  of  Shelley 

And  Venerable  Bede, 
Machiavelli 

And  Captain  Mayne  Reid, 
Fox  upon  Martyrs 

And  Liddell  and  Scott, 
Stubbs  on  the  Charters, 

The  works  of  La  Motte, 
The  Seasons  by  Thomson, 

And  Paul  de  Verlaine, 
Theodore  Mommsen 

And  Clemens  (Mark  Twain), 
The  Rocks  of  Hugh  Miller, 

The  Mill  on  the  Floss, 
The  Poems  of  Schiller, 

The  lliados, 
Don  Quixote  (Cervantes), 
La  Pucelle  by  Voltaire, 
Inferno  (that's  Dante's), 

And  Vanity  Fair, 
Conybeare-Howson, 

Brillat-Savarin, 
And  Baron  Munchausen, 

Mademoiselle  De  Maupin, 
The  Dramas  of  Marlowe, 
The  Three  Musketeers, 


172  Humorous  Verse 

Clarissa  Harlowe, 

And  the  Pioneers, 
Sterne's  Tristram  Shandy, 

The  Ring  and  the  Book, 
And  Handy  Andy, 

And  Captain  Cook, 
The  Plato  of  Jowett, 

And  Mill's  Pol.  Econ., 
The  Haunts  of  Howitt, 

The  Encheiridion, 
Lothair  by  Disraeli, 

And  Boccaccio, 
The  Student's  Paley, 

And  Westward  Ho  ! 
The  Pharmacopoeia, 

Macaulay's  Lays, 
Of  course  The  Medea, 

And  Sheridan's  Plays, 
The  Odes  of  Horace, 

And  Verdant  Green, 
The  Poems  of  Morris, 

The  Faery  Queen, 
The  Stones  of  Venice, 

Natural  History  (White's), 
And  then  Pendennis, 

The  Arabian  Nights, 
Cicero's  Orations, 

Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills, 
The  Wealth  of  Nations, 

And  Byles  on  Bills, 
As  in  a  Glass  Darkly, 

Demosthenes'  Crown, 
The  Treatise  of  Berkeley, 

Tom  Hughes's  Tom  Brown, 
The  Mahabharata, 

The  Humour  of  Hook, 


Humorous  Verse  173 

The  Kreutzer  Sonata,] 

And  Lalla  Rookh, 
Great  Battles  by  Creasy, 

And  Hudibras, 
And  Midshipman  Easy, 

And  Rasselas, 
Shakespeare  in  extenso 

And  the  ^neid. 
And  Euclid  (Colenso), 

The  Woman  who  Did, 
Poe's  Tales  of  Mystery, 

Then  Rabelais, 
Guizot's  French  History, 

And  Men  of  the  Day, 
Rienzi,  by  Lytton, 

The  Poems  of  Burns, 
The  Story  of  Britain, 

The  Journey  (that's  Sterne's), 
The  House  of  Seven  Gables, 

Carroll's  Looking-glass, 
^sop  his  Fables, 

And  Leaves  of  Grass, 
Departmental  Ditties, 

The  Woman  in  White, 
The  Tale  of  Two  Cities, 

Ships  that  Pass  in  the  Night, 
Meredith's  Feverel, 

Gibbon's  Decline, 
Walter  Scott's  Peveril, 

And — some  verses  of  mine. 


THE   DOUBLE   KNOCK. 

By  Thomas  Hood 

Rat-tat  it  went  upon  the  lion's  chin, 

"  That  hat,  I  know  it !"  cried  the  joyful  girl, 


174  Humorous  Verse 

"  Summers  it  is,  I  know  him  by  his  knock, 
Comers  like  him  are  welcome  as  the  day  ! 
Lizzy  !  go  down  and  open  the  street  door. 
Busy  I  am  to  any  one  but  him  ! 
Know  him  you  must — he's  been  so  often  here  ; 
Show  him  upstairs,  and  tell  him  I'm  alone." 

Quickly  the  maid  went  tripping  down  the  stairs  ; 
Thickly  the  heart  of  Rose  Matilda  beat ; 
"  Sure  he  has  brought  me  tickets  for  the  play — 
Drury,  — or  Covent  Garden — darling  man  ! — 
Kemble  will  play — or  Kean  who  makes  the  soul 
Tremble,  in  Richard  or  the  frenzied  Moor — 
Farren,  the  stay  and  prop  of  many  a  farce 
Barren  beside — or  Liston,  Laughter's  child — 
Kelly  the  natural— to  witness  whom 
Jelly  is  nothing  to  the  public's  jam — 
Cooper  the  sensible — and  Walter  Knowles 
Super  in  William  Tell— now  rightly  told. 
Better — perchance  from  Andrews,  brings  a  box, 
Letter  of  boxes  for  the  Italian  stage — 

Brocard  !  Donzelli  !  Taglioni  !  Paul  ! 
No  card, — thank  heaven,— engages  me  to-night ! 
Feathers,  of  course,  no  turban,  and  no  toque — 
Weather's  against  it,  but  I'll  go  in  curls. 
Dearly  I  dote  on  white — my  satin  dress. 
Merely  one  night — it  won't  be  much  the  worse — 
Cupid — the  new  Ballet  I  long  to  see — 
Stupid  !  why  don't  she  go  and  ope  the  door?" 

Glisten'd  her  eye  as  the  impatient  girl 
Listen'd  low-bending  o'er  the  topmost  stair. 
Vainly,  alas  !  she  listens  and  she  bends, 
Plainly  she  hears  this  question  and  reply  : — 
"  Axes  your  pardon,  sir,  but  what  d'ye  want  ?" 
"  Taxes,"  says  he,  "  and  shall  not  call  again  !" 


Humorous  Verse  175 

SIEGE   OF  BELGRADE. 

An  Austrian,  army,  awfully  arrayed, 
Boldly  by  battery  besieged  Belgrade  ; 
Cossack  commanders  cannonading  come, 
Dealing  destruction's  devastating  doom. 
Every  endeavour  engineers  essay 
For  fame,  for  fortune, — fighting,  furious  fray  : 
Generals  'gainst  generals  grapple — gracious  God 
How  honours  Heaven  heroic  hardihood  ! 
Infuriate,  indiscriminate  in  ill. 
Kindred  kill  kinsmen — kinsmen  kindred  kill  ! 
Labour  low  levels  loftiest,  longest  lives  ; 
Men  march  'mid  mounds,  'mid  moles,  'mid  mur- 
derous mines. 
Now  noisy,  noxious  numbers  notice  nought 
Of  outward  obstacles  opposing  ought : 
Poor  patriots,  partly  purchased,  partly  pressed, 
Quite  quaking,  quickly  quarter,  quarter  quest. 
Reason  returns,  religious  right  redounds, 
Suwarrow  stops  such  sanguinary  sounds  : 
Truce  to  thee,  Turkey — triumph  to  thy  train  ! 
Unjust,  unwise,  unmerciful  Ukraine  ! 
Vanish  vain  victory  !  vanish  victory  vain  ! 
Why  wish  we  warfare  ?  Wherefore  welcome  we 
Xerxes,  Ximenes,  Xanthus,  Xaviere? 
Yield,  ye  youths  !  ye  yeomen,  yield  your  yell ! 
Zeno's,  Zarpatus',  Zoroaster's  zeal, 
And  all  attracting— arms  against  appeal. 


BLANK   VERSE    IN    RHYME. 

A   NOCTURNAL   SKETCH. 

By  Thomas  Hood. 

Even  is  come  ;  and  from  the  dark  Park,  hark 
The  signal  of  the  setting  sun — one  gun  ! 


176  Humorous  Verse 

And  six  is  sounding  from  the  chime,  prime  time 
To  go  and  see  the  Drury-lane  Dane  slain, — 
Or  hear  Othello's  jealous  doubt  spout  out, — 
Or  Macbeth  raving  at  that  shade-made  blade, 
Denying  to  his  frantic  clutch  much  touch ; — 
Or  else  to  see  Ducrovv  with  wide  stride  ride 
Four  horses  as  no  other  man  can  span  ; 
Or  in  the  small  Olympic  Pit,  sit  split 
Laughing  at  Liston,  while  you  quiz  his  phiz. 
Anon  night  comes,  and  with  her  wings  brings  things 
Such  as,  with  his  poetic  tongue.  Young  sung ; 
The  gas  up-blazes  with  its  bright  white  light, 
And  paralytic  watchmen  prowl,  howl,  growl, 
About  the  streets,  and  take  up  Pall  Mall  Sal, 
Who,  hastening  to  her  nightly  jobs,  robs  fobs. 

Now  thieves  to  enter  for  your  cash,  smash,  crash, 
Past  drowsy  Charley,  in  a  deep  sleep,  creep. 
But,  frightened  by  Policeman  B3,  flee. 
And  while  they're  going  whisper  low,  "  No  go  ! " 
Now  puss,  while  folks  are  in  their  beds,  treads  leads. 
And  sleepers  waking,  grumble, — "drat  that  cat  !" 
Who  in  the  gutter  caterwauls,  squalls,  mauls 
Some  feline  foe,  and  screams  in  shrill  ill-will. 
Now  Bulls  of  Bashan,  of  a  prize-size,  rise     . 
In  childish  dreams,  and  with  a  roar  gore  poor 
Georgy,  or  Charles,  or  Billy,  willy-nilly  ; — 
But  nursemaid  in  a  nightmare  rest,  chest  press'd, 
Dreameth  of  one  of  her  old  flames,  James  Games, 
And  that  she  hears— what  faith  is  man's— Ann's 

banns 
And  his,  from  Reverend  Mr.  Rice,  twice,  thrice  ; 
White  ribbons  flourish,  and  a  stout  shout  out, 
That  upwards  goes,  shows  Rose  knows  those  bows 

woes  ! 


(IV.) 

THE     KNIFE-GRINDER. 

By  George  Canning. 

Friend  of  Humanity, 

"  Needy  Knife-grinder  !  whither  are  you  going  ? 
Rough  is  the  road — your  wheel  is  out  of  order — 
Bleak  blows  the  blast ;  your  hat  has  got  a  hole  in't, 
So  have  your  breeches  ! 

"  Weary  Knife-grinder  !  little  think  the  proud  ones, 
Who   in  their    coaches   roll   along  the   turnpike- 
Road,  what  hard  work  'tis  crying  all  day  '  Knives 
and 

Scissors  to  grind  O  !' 

Tell  me,  Knife-grinder,  how  you  came  to  grind 
knives  ? 
Did  some  rich  man  tyrannically  use  you  ? 
Was  it  the  squire  ?  or  parson  of  the  parish  ? 
Or  the  attorney  ? 

N 


'7^  Humorous  Verse 

"  Was  it  the  squire,  for  killing  of  his  game  ?  or 
Covetous  parson,  for  his  tithes  distraining  ? 
Or  roguish  lawyer,  made  you  lose  your  little 
All  in  a  law-suit? 

"(Have  you  not  read  the  Rights  of  Man,  by  Tom 

Paine  ?) 
Drops  of  compassion  tremble  on  my  eyelids. 
Ready  to  fall,  as  soon  as  you  have  told  your 
Pitiful  story." 

Knife-grinder. 

'  Story  !  God  bless  you  !  I  have  none  to  tell,  sir, 
Only  last  night,  a-drinking  at  the  Chequers, 
This  poor  old  hat  and  breeches,  as  you  see,  were 
Torn  in  a  scuffle. 

"  Constables  came  up  for  to  take  me  into 
Custody  ;  they  took  me  before  the  justice  ; 
Justice  Oldmixon  put  me  in  the  parish- 
Stocks  for  a  vagrant. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  drink  your  Honour's  health  in 
A  pot  of  beer,  if  you  will  give  me  sixpence  ; 
But  for  my  part,  I  never  love  to  meddle 

With  politics,  sir." 

Friend  of  Humanity. 

"  /  give  thee  sixpence  !  I   will  see  thee  damn'd 

first- 
Wretch  !  whom  no  sense  of  wrongs  can  rouse  to 

vengeance- 
Sordid,  unfeeling,  reprobate,  degraded. 

Spiritless  outcast  ! " 
\_Kicks  the  Knife-grinder^  overturns  his  wheel, 
and  exit  in  a  transport  of  Republican  enthusiasm 
and  universal  fihilanthropy?^ 


Homofous  Verse  179 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  CHEESE. 
By  W.  M.  Praed  (June,  1825). 

The  Pope,  that  pagan  full  of  pride. 
From  whom  may  Heaven  defend  us, 

Did  lay  one  summer  eventide, 
A  horrid  plot  to  end  us  ; 

O'Connell  came  and  talked  his  fill ; 

Sir  Francis  Burdett  made  a  Bill ; 

And  honest  men  felt  great  alarms, 

Both  for  their  faiths  and  for  their  farms. 

Solid  men  of  Cheshire  ! 

We  heard  around  the  savage  cries 

Of  men  with  ragged  breeches. 
Who  practised  the  barbarities 

Of  making  hay — and  speeches  ; 
And  Popish  priests,  disguised  like  Whigs, 
Prepared  to  steal  the  Parson's  pigs. 
To  overthrow  the  Church  and  steeple 
And  break  the  backs  of  upright  people. 

Solid  men  of  Cheshire  ! 

Then  up  the  Heir  Apparent  got 

Of  Britain's  wide  dominion. 
And  said  that  Heaven  and  Earth  should  not 

Demolish  his  opinion ; 
That  Heirs  Apparent  were  not  meant 
To  listen  to  an  argument. 
And  bringing  Royal  Dukes  to  reason. 
He  thought,  was  little  short  of  treason — 

Solid  men  of  Cheshire. 

And  what  reward  did  men  devise 

For  such  a  peroration. 
Which  saved  their  lives  and  liberties 

From  transubstantiation  ? 


i8o  Hitmofous  Verse 

A  long  address,  filled  full  of  beauties, 
Expressive  of  their  loves  and  duties  ; 
And  also  a  prodigious  cheese, 
As  heavy  as  Sir  Harcourt  Lees — 

Solid  men  of  Cheshire. 


Rank  makes  a  virtue  of  a  sin  ; 

Small  labour  it  would  cost  one 
To  prove  that  Peers  a  cheese  may  win. 

As  ^sop's  magpie  lost  one. 
The  Prince  and  pie  perhaps  inherit 
A  voice  of  nearly  equal  merit ; 
A  fox  induced  the  bird  to  puke  ; 
A  lawyer  bammed  the  Royal  Duke — 

Solid  men  of  Cheshire. 


"  Blest  cheese,"  said  girls  in  grogram  vests, 

"  Rub  off  your  rural  shyness  ; 
And  feast  his  Royal  Highness'  guests, 

And  feast  his  Royal  Highness. 
'Tis  thine  to  catch  the  sweets  that  slip 
From  Mr.  Peel's  melodious  lip, 
Thfe  Chancellor's  Boeotian  thunders, 
And  Blomfield's  .(^Lschylean  blunders — 

Solid  men  of  Cheshire. 


"The  Parmesan  upon  the  board 

Shall  tasteless  seem  before  thee. 
And  many  a  spiritual  lord 

Shall  breathe  a  blessing  o'er  thee  ; 
A  hallowed  spot  the  shrine  shall  be. 
Where'er  a  shrine  is  made  for  thee, 
And  none  but  Reverend  Rats  shall  dare 
To  taste  a  single  morsel  there — 

Solid  men  of  Cheshire. 


Humorous  Verse  i8i 

Alas  the  fatal  sisters  frowned 

Upon  the  promised  pleasure  ; 
The  creditors  came  darkly  round, 

And  seized  the  pondrous  treasure  ! 
But  yet  to  ease  the  Duke's  distress, 
They  forwarded  the  long  address, 
Because — to  strip  the  fact  of  feigning — 
The  paper  was  not  worth  detaining  ! 

Solid  men  of  Cheshire  ! 


THE  LONDON  UNIVERSITY. 
By  W.  M.  Praed  (July,  1825). 

Ye  Dons  and  ye  doctors,  ye  Provosts  and  Proctors, 

Who're  paid  to  monopolize  knowledge, 
Come  make  opposition  by  voice  and  petition 

To  the  radical  infidel  College  ; 
Come  put  forth  your  powers  in  aid  of  the  towers 

Which  boast  of  their  Bishops  and  Martyrs, 
And  arm  all  the  terrors  of  privileged  errors 

Which  live  by  the  wax  of  their  Charters. 

Let  Mackintosh  battle  with  Canning  and  Vattel, 

Let  Brougham  be  a  friend  to  the  "  niggers," 
Burdett  cure  the  nation's  misrepresentations, 

And  Hume  cut  a  figure  in  figures  ; 
But  let  them  not  babble  of  Greek  to  the  rabble. 

Nor  teach  the  mechanics  their  letters  ; 
The  labouring  classes  were  born  to  be  asses, 

And  not  to  be  aping  their  betters. 

'Tis  a  terrible  crisis  for  Cam  and  for  Isis  ! 

Fat  butchers  are  learning  dissection  ; 
And    looking-glass     makers     become     Sabbath- 
breakers 

To  study  the  rules  of  reflection  ; 


1 82  Humorous  Verse 

"  Sin  :  0  "  and  "  sin  :  0"  what  sins  can  be  sweeter  ? 

Are  taught  to  the  poor  of  both  sexes, 
And  weavers   and   sinners  jump   up   from  their 
dinners 

To  flirt  with  their  Y's  and  their  X's. 

Chuckfarthing  advances  the  doctrine  of  chances 

In  spite  of  the  staff  of  the  beadle ; 
And    menders    of    breeches    between    the    long 
stitches 

Write  books  on  the  laws  of  the  needle ; 
And  chandlers  all  chatter  of  luminous  matter, 

Who  communicate  none  to  their  tallows, 
And  rogues  get  a  notion  of  the  pendulum's  motion 

Which  is  only  of  use  at  the  gallows. 

The  impurest  of  attics  read  pure  mathematics, 

The  ginshops  are  turned  into  cloisters, 
A  Crawford  next  summer  will  fill  you  your  rummer, 

A  Coplestone  open  your  oysters. 
The  bells  of  Old  Bailey  are  practising  gaily 

The  erudite  tones  of  St.  Mary's  ; 
The  Minories  any  day  will  rear  you  a  Kennedy, 

And  Bishopsgate  blossom  with  Airys. 

The  nature  of  granites,  the  tricks  of  the  planets. 

The  forces  of  steams  and  of  gases, 
The  engines  mechanical,  the  long  words  botanical, 

The  ranging  of  beetles  in  classes. 
The  delicate  junctions  of  symbols  and  functions. 

The  impossible  roots  of  equations — 
Are  these  proper  questions  for  Cockney  digestions, 

Fit  food  for  a  cit.'s  lucubrations? 

The  eloquent  pages  of  time-honoured  sages 
Embalmed  by  some  critical  German, 

Old  presents  from  Brunckius,  new  features  from 
Monckius, 
The  squabbles  of  Porson  with  Hermann, 


Humorous  Vcfse  183 

Your  Alphas  and  Betas,  your  Canons  of  Metres, 

Your  Infinite  Powers  of  Particles, 
Shall  these  and  such-like  work  make  journeymen 
strike  work 

And  'prentices  tear  up  their  articles  ? 

But  oh  !  since  fair  Science  will  cruelly  fly  hence 

To  smile  upon  vagrants  and  gipsies. 
Since  knights  of  the  hammer  must  handle  their 
grammar. 
And  nightmen  account  for  eclipses, 
Our  handicraft   neighbours    shall    share   in    our 
labours 
If  they  leave  us  the  whole  of  the  honey. 
And   the   satis-culotte   caitiff  shall    start    for   the 
plate,  if 
He  puts  in  no  claim  to  plate-money. 

Ye  Halls,  on  whose  dais  the  Don  of  to-day  is 

To  feed  on  the  beef  and  the  benison, 
Ye  Common-room  glories,  where  beneficed  Tories 

Digest  their  belief  and  their  venison. 
Ye  duels  scholastic,  where  quibbles  monastic 

Are  asserted  with  none  to  confute  them, 
Ye  grave  Congregations,  where  frequent  taxations 

Are  settled  with  none  to  dispute  them — 

Far  hence  be  the  season  when  Radical  treason 

Of  port  and  of  pudding  shall  bilk  ye, 
When  the  weavers  aforesaid   shall   taste  of  our 
boar's  head, 
The  silk-winders  swallow  our  silky, 
When  the  mob  shall  eat  faster  than   any  Vice- 
master, 
The  watermen  try  to  out-tope  us. 
When    Campbell   shall    dish   up   a  bowl   of   our 
bishop. 
Or  Brougham  and  Co.  cope  with  our  copus. 


184  Humorous  Verse 

A  SONG  OF  IMPOSSIBILITIES. 
By  W.  M.  Praed  (January,  1827). 

Lady,  I  loved  you  all  last  year. 

How  honestly  and  well — 
Alas  !  would  weary  you  to  hear, 

And  torture  me  to  tell  ; 
I  raved  beneath  the  midnight  sky, 

I  sang  beneath  the  limes — 
Orlando  in  my  lunacy, 

And  Petrarch  in  my  rhymes. 
But  all  is  over !     When  the  sun 

Dries  up  the  boundless  main. 
When  black  is  white,  false-hearted  one, 

I  may  be  yours  again  ! 

When  passion's  early  hopes  and  fears 

Are  not  derided  things  ; 
When  truth  is  found  in  falling  tears. 

Or  faith  in  golden  rings  ; 
When  the  dark  Fates  that  rule  our  way 

Instruct  me  where  they  hide 
One  woman  that  would  ne'er  betray. 

One  friend  that  never  lied ; 
When  summer  shines  without  a  cloud. 

And  bliss  without  a  pain  ; 
When  worth  is  noticed  in  a  crowd, 

I  may  be  yours  again  I 

When  science  pours  the  light  of  day 

Upon  the  lords  of  lands  ; 
When  Huskisson  is  heard  to  say 

That  Lethbridge  understands  ; 
When  wrinkles  work  their  way  in  youth. 

Or  Eldon's  in  a  hurry  ; 


Humorous  Verse  185 

When  lawyers  represent  the  truth, 

Or  Mr.  Sumner  Surrey  ; 
When  aldermen  taste  eloquence 

Or  bricklayers  champagne  ; 
When  common  law  is  common  sense, 

I  may  be  yours  again  ! 

When  learned  judges  play  the  beau, 

Or  learned  pigs  the  tabor ; 
When  traveller  Bankes  beats  Cicero, 

Or  Mr.  Bishop  Weber  ; 
When  sinking  funds  discharge  a  debt, 

Or  female  hands  a  bomb  ; 
When  bankrupts  study  the  Gazette, 

Or  colleges  Tom  Thumb; 
When  little  fishes  learn  to  speak, 

Or  poets  not  to  feign  ; 
When  Dr.  Geldart  construes  Greek, 

I  may  be  yours  again  ! 

When  Pole  and  Thornton  honour  cheques, 

Or  Mr.  Const  a  rogue  ; 
When  Jericho's  in  Middlesex, 

Or  minuets  in  vogue  ; 
When  High  gate  goes  to  Devonport, 

Or  fashion  to  Guildhall ; 
When  argument  is  heard  at  Court, 

Or  Mr,  Wynn  at  all ; 
When  Sidney  Smith  forgets  to  jest, 

Or  farmers  to  complain  ; 
When  kings  that  are  are  not  the  best, 

I  may  be  yours  again  ! 

When  peers  from  telling  money  shrink, 

Or  monks  from  telling  lies  ; 
When  hydrogen  begins  to  sink. 

Or  Grecian  scrip  to  rise  ; 


1 86  Humofotjs  Verse 

When  German  poets  cease  to  dream, 

Americans  to  guess  ; 
When  Freedom  sheds  her  holy  beam 

On  Negroes,  and  the  Press  ; 
When  there  is  any  fear  of  Rome, 

Or  any  hope  of  Spain  ; 
When  Ireland  is  a  happy  home, 

I  may  be  yours  again  ! 

When  you  can  cancel  what  has  been, 

Or  alter  what  must  be, 
Or  bring  once  more  that  vanished  scene, 

Those  withered  joys  to  me  ; 
When  you  can  tune  the  broken  lute, 

Or  deck  the  blighted  wreath, 
Or  rear  the  garden's  richest  fruit. 

Upon  a  blasted  heath  ; 
When  you  can  lure  the  wolf  at  bay 

Back  to  his  shattered  chain, 
To-day  may  then  be  yesterday — 

I  may  be  yours  again  ! 


UTOPIA. 
By  W.  M.  Praed  (April,  1827). 

If  I  could  scare  the  light  away, 

No  sun  should  ever  shine  ; 
If  I  could  bid  the  clouds  obey, 

Thick  darkness  should  be  mine  ; 
Where'er  my  weary  footsteps  roam, 

I  hate  whate'er  I  see  ; 
And  Fancy  builds  a  fairer  home 

In  Slumber's  hour  for  me. 


Humorous  Vei*sc  187 

I  had  a  vision  yesternight 

Of  a  lovelier  land  than  this, 
Where  heaven  was  clothed  in  warmth  and  light, 

Where  earth  was  full  of  bliss  ; 
And  every  tree  was  rich  with  fruits, 

And  every  field  with  flowers, 
And  every  zephyr  wakened  lutes 

In  passion-haunted  bowers. 


I  clambered  up  a  lofty  rock 

And  did  not  find  it  steep  ; 
I  read  through  a  page  and  a-half  of  Locke 

And  did  not  fall  asleep  ; 
I  said  whate'er  I  may  but  feel, 

I  paid  whate'er  I  owe. 
And  I  danced  one  day  an  Irish  reel 

With  the  gout  in  every  toe. 

And  I  was  more  than  six  feet  high. 

And  fortunate,  and  wise  ; 
And  I  had  a  voice  of  melody 

And  beautiful  black  eyes  ; 
My  horses  like  the  lightning  went. 

My  barrels  carried  true. 
And  I  held  my  tongue  at  an  argument, 

And  winning  cards  at  loo. 

I  saw  an  old  Italian  priest 

Who  spoke  without  disguise  ; 
1  dined  with  a  judge  who  swore,  like  Best, 

All  libels  should  be  lies  ; 
I  bought  for  a  penny  a  two-penny  loaf 

Of  wheat — and  nothing  more  ; 
I  danced  with  a  female  philoso;phe 

Who  was  not  quite  a  bore. 


Humorous  Verse 

The  kitchens  there  had  richer  roast, 

The  sheep  wore  whiter  wool ; 
I  read  a  witty  Morning  Post, 

And  an  innocent  y<7^«  Bull ; 
The  gaolers  had  nothing  at  all  to  do, 

The  hangmen  looked  forlorn, 
And  the  Peers  had  passed  a  vote  or  two 

For  freedom  of  trade  in  corn. 

There  was  a  crop  of  wheat,  which  grew 

Where  plough  was  never  brought ; 
There  was  a  noble  Lord,  who  knew 

What  he  was  never  taught ; 
A  scheme  appeared  in  the  Gazette 

For  a  lottery  without  blanks  : 
And  a  Parliament  had  lately  met 

Without  a  single  Bankes. 


And  there  were  kings  who  never  went 

To  cults  for  half-a-crown  ; 
And  lawyers  who  were  eloquent 

Without  a  wig  and  gown  ; 
And  sportsmen  w'ho  forbore  to  praise 

Their  greyhounds  and  their  guns, 
And  poets  who  deserved  the  bays, 

And  did  not  dread  the  duns. 

And  boroughs  were  bought  without  a  test, 

And  no  man  feared  the  Pope, 
And  the  Irish  cabins  were  all  possest 

Of  liberty,  and  soap  ; 
And  the  Chancellor,  feeling  very  sick. 

Had  just  resigned  the  seals  ; 
And  a  clever  little  Catholic 

Was  hearing  Scotch  Appeals. 


Humofoas  Verse  189 

I  went  one  day  to  a  court  of  law 

Where  a  fee  had  been  refused  ; 
And  a  public  school  I  really  saw 

Where  the  rod  was  never  used  : 
And  the  sugar  still  was  very  sweet, 

Though  all  the  slaves  were  free  ; 
And  all  the  folk  in  Downing  Street 

Had  learnt  the  Rule  of  Three. 


There  love  had  never  a  fear  or  doubt ; 

December  breathed  like  June  ; 
The  Prima  Donna  ne'er  was  out 

Of  temper — or  of  tune  ; 
The  streets  were  paved  with  mutton-pies, 

Potatoes  ate  like  pine, 
Nothing  looked  black  but  woman's  eyes 

Nothing  grew  old  but  wine. 

There  was  no  fault  in  the  Penal  Code, 

No  dunce  in  a  public  school, 
No  dust  or  dirt  on  a  private  road. 

No  shame  in  Wellesley  Pole. 
They  showed  me  a  figurante^  whose  name 

Had  never  known  disgrace. 
And  a  gentleman  of  spotless  fame 

With  Mr.  Bochsa's  face. 


It  was  an  idle  dream  ;  but  thou. 

The  worshipped  one,  wert  there. 
With  thy  dark  clear  eyes  and  beaming  brow. 

White  neck  and  floating  hair  ; 
And  oh,  I  had  an  honest  heart, 

And  a  house  of  Portland  stone  ; 
And  thou  wert  dear — as  still  thou  art ; 

And  more  than  dear — my  own  ! 


19°  Humorous  Verse 

Oh  bitterness  !     The  morning  broke 

Alike  on  boor  and  bard  ; 
And  thou  wert  married  when  I  woke, 

And  all  the  rest  was  marred  ; 
And  toil  and  trouble,  noise  and  steam, 

Came  back  with  the  coming  ray  ; 
And,  if  I  thought  the  dead  could  dream, 

I'd  hang  myself  to-day  ! 


THE  NEW  ORDER  OF  THINGS. 
By  W.  M.  Praed  (December,  1830). 

We're  sick  of  this  distressmg  state 

Of  order  and  repose  ; 
We  have  not  had  enough  of  late 

Of  blunders  or  of  blows  ; 
We  can't  endure  to  pass  our  life 

In  such  a  humdrum  way  ; 
We  want  a  little  pleasant  strife — 

The  Whigs  are  in  to-day  ! 

Our  worthy  fathers  were  content 

With  all  the  world's  applause  ; 
They  thought  they  had  a  parliament, 

And  liberty,  and  laws. 
It's  no  such  thing ;  we've  wept  and  groaned 

Beneath  a  despot's  sway  ; 
We've   all   been   whipped,  and  star\'ed,  and 
stoned — 

The  Whigs  are  m  to-day  ! 

We  used  to  fancy  Englishmen 

Had  broken  Europe's  chain, 
And  won  a  battle,  now  and  then, 

Against  the  French  in  Spain  ; 


Hwmofous  Vctsc  191 

Oh  no  !  we  never  ruled  the  waves, 

Whatever  people  say  ; 
We've  all  been  despicable  slaves — 

The  Whigs  are  in  to-day  ! 

It's  time  for  us  to  see  the  things 

Which  other  folk  have  seen  ; 
It's  time  we  should  cashier  our  kings, 

And  build  our  guillotine  ; 
We'll  abrogate  Police  and  Peers, 

And  vote  the  Church  away  ; 
We'll  hang  the  parish  overseers — 

The  Whigs  are  in  to-day  ! 

We'll  put  the  landlords  to  the  rout ; 

We'll  burn  the  College  Halls  ; 
We'll  turn  St.  James's  inside  out, 

And  batter  down  St.  Paul's. 
We'll  hear  no  more  of  Bench  or  Bar  ; 

The  troops  shall  have  no  pay : 
We'll  turn  adrift  our  men  of  war — 

The  Whigs  are  in  to-day  ! 

We  fear  no  bayonet  or  ball 

From  those  who  fight  for  hire  ; 
For  Baron  Brougham  has  told  them  all 

On  no  account  to  fire. 
Lord  Tenterden  looks  vastly  black  ; 

But  Baron  Brougham,  we  pray, 
Will  strip  the  ermine  from  his  back — 

The  Whigs  are  in  to-day  !  -■ 

Go  pluck  the  jewels  from  the  Crown, 

The  colours  from  the  mast. 
And  let  the  Three  per  Cents,  come  down — 

We  can  but  break  at  last. 


192  Humorous  Verse 

If  Cobbett  is  the  first  of  men, 
The  second  is  Lord  Grey  ; 

Oh  must  we  not  be  happy,  when 
The  Whigs  are  in  to-day  ! 


PLEDGES. 

BY  A  TEN-POUND   HOUSEHOLDER. 

By  W.  M.  Praed  (September,  1832). 

When  a  gentleman  comes 

With  his  trumpet  and  drums, 
And  hangs  out  a  flag  at  the  Dragon, 

Some  pledges,  no  doubt. 

We  must  get  him  to  spout 
To  the  shop-keepers,  out  of  a  wagon. 

For  although  an  M.P. 

May  be  wiser  than  we 
Till  the  House  is  dissolved,  in  December, 

Thenceforth,  we're  assured. 

Since  Reform  is  secured, 
We'll  be  wiser  by  far  than  our  member. 

A  pledge  must  be  had 

That,  since  times  are  so  bad. 
He'll  prepare  a  long  speech,  to  improve  them 

And  since  taxes,  at  best. 

Are  a  very  poor  jest. 
He'll  take  infinite  pains  to  remove  them. 

He  must  promise  and  vow 

That  he'll  never  allow 
A  Bishop  to  ride  in  his  carriage  ; 

That  he'll  lighten  our  cares 

By  abolishing  prayers, 
And  extinguishing  baptism  and  marriage. 


Humofotts  Verse  19  3 

He  must  solemnly  say 

That  he'll  vote  no  more  pay 
To  the  troops,  in  their  ugly  red  jackets  ; 

And  that  none  may  complain 

On  the  banks  of  the  Seine, 
He'll  dismast  all  our  ships,  but  the  packets. 

That  the  labourer's  arm 

May  be  stout  on  the  farm, 
That  our  commerce  may  wake  from  stagnation, 

That  our  trades  may  revive, 

And  our  looms  look  alive. 
He'll  be  pledged  to  all  free  importation 

And  that  city  and  plain 

May  recover  again 
From  the  squabbles  of  Pitts  and  of  Foxes, 

He'll  be  pledged,  amidst  cheers, 

To  demolish  the  Peers, 
And  give  us  the  balls  and  the  boxes. 

Some  questions  our  wit 

May  have  chanced  to  omit ; 
So,  for  fear  he  should  happen  to  stumble. 

He  must  promise  to  go 

With  Hume,  Harvey,  and  Co., 
And  be  their  obedient  and  humble. 

We  must  bind  him,  poor  man, 

To  obey  their  divan. 
However  their  worships  may  taskjhim. 

To  swallow  their  lies 

Without  any  surprise, 
And  to  vote  black  is  white,  when  they  ask  him. 

These  hints  I  shall  lay. 

In  a  forcible  way, 
Beiore  an  intelligent  quorum. 

Who  meet  to  debate 

Upon  matters  of  State, 
To-night,  at  the  National  Forum. 


194  Humorous  Verse 

"YOU   ARE    YOUNG,    KAISER  WILLIAM." 

By   MOSTYN  T.    PIGOTT. 

"You  are  young,  Kaiser  William,"  the  old  man 
exclaimed, 

"  And  your  wisdom-teeth  barely  are  through, 
And  yet  by  yourdeeds  the  whole  world  is  inflamed — 

Do  you  think  this  is  proper  of  you  ?  " 
"  As  a  baby  I  doted  on  playing  with  fire," 

Replied  the  irascible  prince, 
"  And  though  I  was  spanked  by  my  excellent  sire, 

I've  been  doing  the  same  ever  since." 

"  You   are   young,"    said    the    Sage,    "  and    your 
juvenile  legs 
Are  not  what  one  would  call  fully  grown ; 
Yet  you  point  out  to  Grandmamma  how  to  suck 
eggs- 
Why  adopt  this  preposterous  tone  ?  " 
"  As  a  child,"  said  the  youth,  "  I  perceived  that  my 
head 
Wouldn't  ever  allow  me  to  learn, 
So  I  made  up  my  mind  to  start  teaching  instead, 
And  I've  taught  everybody  in  turn." 

"You  are  young,"  said  the  Sage,  "as  I  mentioned 
just  now, 

Yet  with  relatives  over  the  sea 
You  have  recently  kicked  up  a  terrible  row  — 

Do  you  think  that  such  things  ought  to  be  ?  " 
"  In  my  yacht,"  said  the  youth,  "  I  will  oftentimes 
range, 

And  at  Cowes  I  have  gybed  once  or  twice. 
So  it  came  to  my  mind  that  by  way  of  a  change 

To  gibe  at  a  Bull  would  be  nice." 


Humorous  Verse  195 

"  You  are  young,"  said  the  Seer,  "  but  the  Post  you 
ignore. 

And  have  got  an  extravagant  trick 
Of  using  up  telegraph -forms  by  the  score — 

Why  are  you  so  painfully  quick  ? " 
"  As  a  child,"  replied  William,  "  they  taught  me  to 
write 

An  entirely  illegible  scrawl ; 
But  a  wire  which  the  Post  Oflfice  people  indite 

Can  be  read  without  trouble  by  all." 

"  You  are  young,"  said  the  Sage,  "  but  you  cling  to 
the  view 

That  the  whole  of  the  world  must  be  yours  ; 
Now  show  how  the  Transvaal's  connected  with  you. 

And  what  business  you  have  with  the  Boers." 
"  1  am  tired  of  your  questions  and  sick  of  your  din," 

Answered  William  :  "obey  my  behest — 
Be  off!  or  I'll  treat  you  as  one  of  my  kin. 

And  order  your  instant  arrest !  " 


GR^CULUS  ESURIENS. 
By  A.  D.  God  LEY. 

There  came  a  Grecian  Admiral  to  pale  Britannia's 

shore — 
In  Eighteen  Ninety-eight  he  came,  and  anchored 

off  the  Nore  ; 
An   ultimatum   he   despatched   (I   give   the   text 

complete). 
Addressing  it  "  T<5  Kupt'o),  the  Premier,  Do\vning- 

street." 

"  Whereas  the  sons  of  Liberty  with   indignation 

view 
The  number  of  dependencies  which  governed  are 

by  you — 


196  Humorous  Verse 

With  Hellas  (Freedom's  chosen  land)  we  purpose 

to  unite 
Some  part  of  those  dependencies— let's  say  the 

Isle  of  Wight." 

"The  Isle  of  Wight !  "  said  Parliament,  and  shud- 
dered at  the  word  ; 

"Her  Majesty's  at  Osborne,  too  — of  course,  the 
thing's  absurd  !  " 

And  this  response  Lord  Salisbury  eventually 
gave  : 

"  Such  transfers  must  attended  be  by  difficulties 
grave." 

"  My  orders,"  said  the  Admiral,  ■'  are  positive  and 

flat: 
I  am  not  in  the  least  deterred  by  obstacles  like 

that  : 
We're  really  only  acting  in  the  interests  of  peace  : 
Expansion  is  a  nation's  law  — we've  aims  sublime 

in  Greece." 

With  that  Britannia  blazed  amain  with  patriotic 
flames ! 

They  built  a  hundred  ironclads  and  launched  them 
in  the  Thames  : 

They  girded  on  their  fathers'  swords,  both  com- 
moners and  peers  ; 

They  mobilized  an  Army  Corps,  and  drilled  the 
A'^olunteers  I 

The  Labour  Party  armed  itself,  invasion's  path  to 

bar  ; 
"  Truth  "  and  the  "  Daily  Chronicle  "  proclaimed 

a  Righteous  War ; 
Sir  William    Harcourt   stumped   the   towns   that 

sacred  fire  to  fan, 
And  Mr.  Gladstone  every  day][sent  telegrams  from 

Cannes. 


Humorows  Verse  197 

But  ere  the)'  marched  to  meet  the  foe  and  drench 

the  land  with  gore, 
Outspake  that  Grecian  Admiral— from  somewhere 

near  the  Nore — 
And  "  Ere,'"'  he  said,  "  hostilities  are  ordered  to 

commence, 
Just    hear    a    last    appeal    unto    your    educated 

sense  :  — 


"You  can't  intend,"  he  said,  said  he,   "to  turn 

your  Maxims  on 
The   race   that   fought   at    Salamis,  that   bled   at 

Marathon  1 
You  can't  propose  with  brutal  force  to  drive  from 

off  your  seas 
The    men   of    Homers   gifted    line — the   sons    of 

Socrates  I " 


Britannia  heard  the  patriot's  plea  ;  she  checked 

her  murderous  plans  : 
Homer's  a  name  to  conjure  with,  'mong  British 

artisans  : 
Her  Army  too,  profoundly  moved  by  arguments 

like  these, 
Said  'e'd  be  blowed  afore  'e'd  fight  the  sons  of 

Socrates. 

They  cast  away  their  fathers'  swords,  those  com- 
moners and  peers, — 

Demobilized  their  Army  Corps — dismissed  their 
Volunteers  : 

Soft  Sentiment  o'erthrew  the  bars  that  nations 
disunite. 

And  Greece,  in  Freedom's  sacred  name,  annexed 
the  Isle  of  Wight. 


iqS  Humorous  Verse 

TO  THE  LORD  OF  POTSDAM. 

[On  sending  a  certain  telegram.] 

By  Owen  Seaman. 

Majestic  Monarch  !  whom  the  other  gods, 

For  fear  of  their  immediate  removal, 
Consulting  hourly,  seek  your  awful  nod's 
Approval  ; 

Lift  but  your  little  finger  up  to  strike, 

And  lo  I  "  the  massy  earth  is  riven  "  (Shelley), 
The  habitable  globe  is  shaken  like 
A  jelly. 

By  your  express  permission  for  the  last 

Eight  years  the  sun  has  regularly  risen  ; 
And  editors,  that  questioned  this,  have  passed 
To  prison. 

In  Art  you  simply  have  to  say,  "  I  shall  I " 
Beethoven's  fame  is  rendered  transitory  ; 
And  Titian  cloys  beside  your  clever  all- 
-egory. 

We  hailed  you  Admiral  :  your  eagle  sight 

Foresaw  Her  Majesty's  benign  intentions  ; 
A  uniform  was  ready  of  the  right 
Dimensions. 

Your   wardrobe   shines  with   all   the   shapes  and 

shades 
That  genius  can  fix  in  fancy  suitings  ; 
For  levees,  false  alarums,  full  parades 

And  shootings. 

But,  save  the  habit  marks  the  man  of  gore, 

Your  spurs  are  yet  to  win,  my  callow  Kaiser  I 
Of  fighting  in  the  field  you  know  no  more 
Than  I,  Sir  I 


Humorous  Verse  199 

When  Grandpapa  was  thanking  God  with  hymns 

For  gallant  Frenchmen  dying  in  the  ditches, 
Your  nurse  had  barely  braced  your  little  limbs 
In  breeches. 

And  doubtless,  where  he  roosts  beside  his  bock, 
The  Game  Old  Bird  that  played 'the  leading 

fiddle 
Smiles  grimly  as  he  hears  your  perky  cock- 

-a-diddle. 

Be  well  advised,  my  youthful  friend,  abjure 
These  tricks  that  smack  of  Cleon  and  the  tan- 
ners ;  * 
And  let  the  Dutch  instruct  a  German  Boor 

In  manners. 

Nor  were  you  meant  to  solve  the  nations'  knots, 

Or  be  the  Earth's  Protector,  willy-nilly  ; 
You  only  make  yourself  and  royal  Pots- 
-dam  silly. 

Our  racing  yachts  are  not  at  present  dressed 

In  bravery  of  bunting  to  amuse  you, 
Nor  can  the  licence  of  an  honoured  guest 
Excuse  you. 

But  if  your  words  are  more  than  wanton  play 

And  you  would  like  to  meet  the  old  sea-rover, 
Name  any  course  from  Delagoa  Bay 
To  Dover. 

Meanwhile  observe  a  proper  continence  ; 

We  ask  no  more  ;  there  never  was  a  rumour 
Of  asking  Hohenzollerns  for  a  sense 
Of  humour  ! 


(V.) 

THE  WAR-SONG    OF   DINAS   VAWR. 
By  T.  Love  Peacock. 

The  mountain  sheep  are  sweeter, 

But  the  valley  sheep  are  fatter ; 
We  therefore  deemed  it  meeter 

To  carry  off  the  latter. 
We  made  an  expedition  ; 

We  met  an  host  and  quelled  it ; 
We  forced  a  strong  position, 

And  killed  the  men  who  held  it. 

On  Dyfed's  richest  valley, 

Where  herds  of  kine  were  browsing, 
We  made  a  mighty  sally, 

To  furnish  our  carousing. 
Fierce  warriors  rushed  to  meet  us  ; 

We  met  them,  and  o'erthrew  them  : 
They  struggled  hard  to  beat  us  ) 

But  we  conquered  them,  and  slew  them. 

As  we  drove  our  prize  at  leisure, 

The  king  marched  forth  to  catch  us  : 

His  rage  surpassed  all  measure, 
But  his  people  could  not  match  us. 


Humorous  Verse  2 

He  fled  to  his  hall-pillars  ; 

And,  ere  our  force  we  led  off, 
Some  sacked  his  house  and  cellars, 

While  others  cut  his  head  off. 

We  there,  in  strife  bewildering, 

Spilt  blood  enough  to  swim  in  : 
We  orphaned  many  children, 

And  widowed  many  women. 
The  eagles  and  the  ravens 

We  glutted  with  our  foemen  ; 
The  heroes  and  the  cravens, 

The  spearmen  and  the  bowmen. 

We  brought  aw&y  from  battle, 

And  much  their  land  bemoaned  them, 
Two  thousand  head  of  cattle. 

And  the  head  of  him  who  owned  them  : 
Ednyfed,  King  of  Dyfed, 

His  head  was  borne  before  us  ; 
His  wine  and  beasts  supplied  our  feasts, 

And  his  overthrow,  our  chorus. 

A     BALLAD     OF     SIR     KAY. 
By  H.  Newman  Howard. 

PART   I. 

What,  ho  ? 

Kay  the  Seneschal, 

Fare  ye  forth  in  the  woods  alone  ? 

Yea,  'sooth, 

And  who  shall  hinder  me  .'' 

Hardier  Knight,  by  the  Rood,  there  is  none  ! 

Tangled  thorn,  and  the  gliding  snake, 
And  the  whistle  of  owls  he  liketh  not. 

Nor  the  glimmer  of  eyes  in  the  ashen  brake. 
Nor  the  hooves  of  tuskM  boars,  God  wot  I 


02  Humorous  Verse 

Wit  ye  well 

A  giant  is  bellowing  ! 

Take  to  thy  heels  thou  brave  Sir  Kay  I 

Ride  :  Hide  ! 

Belike  he  is  following  : 

Knights  are  his  caudle,  and  fattened  to  flay. 

Eftsoons  the  woful  echoes  die, — 
The  birds  are  merry  again,  I  ween  : 

Braver  Knight  there  is  none  than  I  : 

Creep  on  thy  belly  the  boughs  between. 

Hush  :  Ho ! 

Logrin  is  lying  there, — 

Logrin  the  giant,  shaggy  of  head  : 

King's  Son 

Lohot  beside  him  : 

Which  is  the  sleeper  ?     Which  is  the  dead  ? 

Creep  and  crawl,  a  blade  in  thy  teeth, — 
Reach  ye  an  arm,  and  sever  a  neck. 

Doughtily  done  ! — Now  delve  in  the  heath  : 
Bury  a  body,  and  no  man  shall  reck. 

Hack  thy  shield, 

Gallop  to  Camelot, 

Brag  of  the  buffets  ye  got  in  the  fray  ; 

Look  ye.  Knights, 

Tied  to  my  saddle  bow, 

Head  of  the  giant,  slain  by  Sir  Kay  ! 

PART   II. 

King  Arthur  sits  at  his  table  round, 
A  year  and  a  day  hath  passed  and  gone, 

And  Kay  the  Seneschal,  still  renowned, 
A  second  marvellous  deed  hath  done  : 

Cometh  a  maiden,  and  in  her  hand 

A  coffer,  carven  of  gold  ywis  : 
— O  King,  I  have  travelled  many  lands, 

But  never  a  Knight  may  open  this  ! 


Humorous  Verse  203 

Stand  forth,  Sir  Lancelot,  quoth  the  King  : 
Thou  art  full  hardy  and  deft  withal  ; 

Right  craftily  shalt  thou  do  this  thing. 
— But,  alack,  it  might  not  so  befall. 

Then  followeth  many  a  cunning  elf, — 
Galahad,  Bors  and  wight  Gawain  ; 

And  last  of  them  all  the  King  himself : 
Nor  ever  the  lid  might  open  amain. 

Then  spake  the  lady  :  The  saying  is  true 
"A  mettlesome  carle  is  he  that  shall  come 

To  open  the  coffer,"  for  lo  he  slew 
The  hardiest  Knight  in  Christendom ! 

Quoth  Arthur,  Let  call  the  brave  Sir  Kay  : 
A  coffer  of  gold  for  a  giant's  head. 

In  sooth  were  a  guerdon  meet  to  pay  : — • 
And  the  Seneschal  nought  thereto  gainsaid. 

Shout,  Ho ! 

Kay  the  Seneschal, 

Kay  who  Logrin  the  giant  bestrid, — 

Kay  hath  taken  it, 

Kay  hath  conquered  it, 

Kay  hath  opened  the  golden  lid  ! 

Grammercy,  Knight, — King  Arthur  cried, — 
'Tis  mickle  fame  that  deed  shall  win  ! 

— The  coffer  hath  gotten  a  scroll  inside, 
And  the  grimly  head  of  a  Knight  therein  I 

What,  Ho  : 

Read  ye  the  writing  there  ! 

"  1  AM  SIR  LOHOT  :  FOULLY  I  BLEED  : 

SLAIN    ASLEEP  : 

LYING   ON   LOGRIN  : 

WHO  OPENS  THE  COFFER  OWNS  TO  THE  DEED.' 


204  Httmorous  Verse 

The  first  they  saw  of  the  bold  Sir  Kay 
Was  a  smile  and  an  orgulous  port ; 

The  last  they  saw  of  the  Knight  that  day 
Was  his  heels  as  he  fled  the  court. 
*  *  »  *  ♦ 

Sing,  Ho  ! 
The  story  is  told  ! 

Rascals  may  thrive  for  a  year  and  a  day  : 
Shout,  Ho  ! 

In  their  coffers  of  gold 

Are  the  head  of  a  corpse,  and  the  heels  of 
Sir  Kay. 

EPIGRAM. 

By  An  Oxonian  (1715). 

King  George,  observing  with  judicious  eyes 

The  state  of  both  his  Universities, 

To  Oxford  sent  a  troop  of  horse  ;  and  why  ? 

That  learned  body  wanted  loyalty. 

To  Cambridge  books  he  sent,  as  well  discerning 

How  much  that  loyal  body  wanted  learning. 

REPLY. 

By  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  of  Cambridge. 

The  king  to  Oxford  sent  a  troop  of  horse, 
For  Tories  know  no  argument  but  force  ; 
With  equal  skill  to  Cambridge  books  he  sent, 
For  Whigs  admit  no  force  but  argument. 

I  HAE  LAID  A  HERRING  IN  SAUT. 

By  James  Tytler. 
I  HAE  laid  a  herring  in  saut — 

Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now  ; 
I  hae  brew'd  a  forpit*  o'  maut. 
And  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo  : 

^  Measure. 


Humorous  Verse  205 

I  hae  a  call  that  will  soon  be  a  cow — 
Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now ; 

I  hae  a  stook,  and  I'll  soon  hae  a  mowe,* 
And  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo  : 

I  hae  a  house  upon  yon  moor — 

Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now  ; 
Three  sparrows  may  dance  upon  the  floor. 

And  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo  : 
I  hae  a  but,  and  I  hae  a  ben — 

Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now  ; 
A  penny  to  keep,  and  a  penny  to  spen', 

And  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo  : 

I  hae  a  hen  wi'  a  happitief-leg — 

Lass,  gin  ye  lo  e  me,  tell  me  now  ; 
That  ilka  day  lays  me  an  egg, 

And  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo  : 
I  hae  a  cheese  upon  my  skelf — 

Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now  ; 
And  soon  wi'  mites  'twill  rin  itself, 

And  I  canna  come  ilka  dav  to  woo. 


JENNY'S  BAWBEE. 
By  Sir  Alexander  Boswell. 

I  MET  four  chaps  yon  birks  amang, 
Wi'  hinging  lugs  and  faces  lang  ; 
I  spiered  at  neebour  Bauldy  Strang, 

Wha's  they  I  see  ? 
Quo'  he,  ilk  cream-faced  pawky  chiel, 
Thought  he  was  cunning  as  the  deil. 
And  here  they  cam',  awa'  to  steal 

Jenny's  bawbee. 

*  Rick.  t  Lame. 


2o6  Humorous  Verse 

The  first,  a  Captain  to  his  trade, 

Wi'  skull  ill-lined,  but  back  weel-clad, 

March'd  round  the  barn,  and  by  the  shed, 

And  papped  on  his  knee  : 
Quo'  he,  "  My  goddess,  nymph,  and  queen, 
Your  beauty's  dazzled  baith  my  een  I  " 
But  deil  a  beauty  he  had  seen 

But — Jenny's  bawbee. 

A  Lawyer  neist,  wi'  blatherin'  gab, 
Wha  speeches  wove  like  ony  wab, 
In  ilk  ane's  corn  aye  took  a  dab, 

And  a'  for  a  fee. 
Accounts  he  owed  through  a'  the  toun, 
And    tradesmen's    tongues   nae    niair    could 

drown. 
But  now  he  thocht  to  clout  his  goun 

Wi' Jenny's  bawbee. 

A  Norland  Laird  neist  trotted  up, 
Wi'  bawsand  nag  and  siller  whip, 
Cried,    "There's    my   beast,    lad,    haud    the 

Or  tie  't  till  a  tree  ! 
What's  gowd  to  me  ? — I've  walth  o'  Ian' ! 
Bestow  on  ane  o'  worth  your  han' ! " — 
He  thocht  to  pay  what  he  was  awn 

Wi'  Jenny's  bawbee. 

Drest  up  just  like  the  knave  o'  clubs, 
A  THING  came  neist,  (but  life  has  rubs,) 
Foul  were  the  roads,  and  fu'  the  dubs,* 

And  jaupitt  a'  was  he. 
He  danced  up,  squinting  through  a  glass, 
And  grinn'd,  "  I'  faith,  a  bonnie  lass  I" 
He  thought  to  win,  wi'  front  o'  brass, 

Jenny's  bawbee. 

*  Puddles.  t  Bemired. 


'  Humorous  Verse  207 

She  bade  the  Laird  gae  kame  his  wig, 
The  Sodger  no  to  strut  sae  big, 
The  Lawyer  no  to  be  a  prig, 

The  Fool  he  cried,  "  Tehee  ! 
I  kenn'd  that  I  could  never  fail ! " 
But  she  preen'd  the  dishclout  to  his  tail, 
And  soused  him  in  the  water-pail, 

And  kept  her  bawbee. 

Then  Johnnie  cam',  a  lad  o'  sense, 
Although  he  had  na  mony  pence ; 
And  took  young  Jenny  to  the  spence, 

Wi'  her  to  crack  a  wee. 
Now  Johnnie  was  a  clever  chiel, 
And  here  his  suit  he  press'd  sae  weel, 
That  Jenny's  heart  grew  saft  as  jeel," 

And  she  birled  her  bawbee. 

THE    LADY'S    POCKET    ADONIS. 
By  Doctor  Maginn. 

There  was  a  lady  lived  at  Leith, 

A  lady  very  stylish,  man, 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  her  teeth. 
She  fell  in  love  with  an  Irishman, 
A  nasty,  ugly  Irishman, 
A  wild  tremendous  Irishman, 
A  tearing,  swearing,  thumping,  bumping,  ramping, 
roaring  Irishman. 

His  face  was  no  ways  beautiful. 

For  with  small-pox  'twas  scarr'd  across  ; 
And  the  shoulders  of  the  ugly  dog 
Were  almost  double  a  yard  across. 
Oh  the  lump  of  an  Irishman, 
The  whisky-devouring  Irishman — 
The  great  he-rogue,  with  his  wonderful  brogue, 
the  fighting,  rioting  Irishman. 

*  Jelly. 


2o8  Humorous  Verse 

One  of  his  eyes  was  bottle-green, 

And  the  other  eye  was  out,  my  dear ; 
And  the  calves  of  his  wicked-looking  legs, 
Were  more  than  two  feet  about,  my  dear. 
Oh  the  great  big  Irishman, 
The  rattling,  battling  Irishman — 
The  stamping,  ramping,  swaggering,  staggering, 
leathering  swash  of  an  Irishman. 

He  took  so  much  of  Lundy-foot, 

That  he  used  to  snort  and  snuffle,  O  ; 
And  in  shape  and  size,  the  fellow's  neck. 
Was  as  bad  as  the  neck  of  a  buffalo. 
Oh  the  horrible  Irishman, 
The  thundering,  blundering  Irishman, 
The  slashing,  dashing,  smashing,  lashing,  thrash- 
ing, hashing  Irishman. 

His  name  was  a  terrible  name,  indeed. 

Being  Timothy  Thady  Mulligan  ; 
And  whenever  he   emptied   his   tumbler  of 
punch. 
He'd  not  rest  till  he'd  filled  it  full  again. 
The  boozing,  bruising  Irishman, 
The  'toxicated  Irishman — 
The  whisky,  frisky,  rummy,  gummy,  brandy,  no 
dandy  Irishman. 

This  was  the  lad  the  lady  loved, 

Like  all  the  girls  of  quality  ; 
And  he  broke  the  skulls  of  the  men  of  Leith, 
Just  by  the  way  of  jollity. 

Oh  the  leathering  Irishman, 
The  barbarous,  savage  Irishman — 
The  hearts  of  the  maids,  and  the  gentlemen's  heads, 
were  bothered,  I'm  sure,  by  this  Irishman. 


Humorous  Verse  209 

THE  SABINE  FARMER'S  SERENADE. 
By  Father  Prout. 


'TWAS  on  a  windy  night, 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
An  Irish  lad  so  tight, 

All  wind  and  weather  scorning, 
At  Judy  Callaghan's  door. 

Sitting  upon  the  palings, 
His  love-tale  he  did  pour. 

And  this  was  part  of  his  wailings 

Only  say 
You'll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan  ; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Ckartning  Judy  Callaghan. 

II. 

Oh  !  list  to  what  I  say. 

Charms  you've  got  like  Venus  ; 
Own  your  love  you  may, 

There's  but  the  wall  between  us. 
You  lie  fast  asleep 

Snug  in  bed  and  snoring  ; 
Round  the  house  I  creep, 

Your  hard  heart  imploring. 

Only  say 
YotUll  have  Mr.  Brallaghan  ; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

III. 

I've  got  a  pig  and  a  sow, 
I've  got  a  sty  to  sleep  'em 

A  calf  and  a  brindled  cow. 
And  a  cabin  too,  to  keep  'em  ; 


2IO  Humorous  Verse 

Sunday  hat  and  coat, 

An  old  grey  mare  to  ride  on, 
Saddle  and  bridle  to  boot, 

Which  you  may  ride  astride  on. 

Only  say 
Y oil  II  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan  ; 

Dotit  say  nay^ 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

IV. 

I've  got  an  acre  of  ground, 

I've  got  it  set  with  praties  ; 
I've  got  of  baccy  a  pound, 

I've  got  some  tea  for  the  ladies ; 
I've  got  the  ring  to  wed. 

Some  whisky  to  make  us  gaily  ; 
I've  got  a  feather  bed 

And  a  handsome  new  shillelagh. 

Only  say 
You'll  have  Mr.  Brallaghan  ; 

Doiit  say  nay. 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 


You've  got  a  charming  eye, 

You've  got  some  spelling  and  reading 
You've  got,  and  so  have  I, 

A  taste  for  genteel  breeding  ; 
You're  rich,  and  fair,  and  young, 

As  everybody's  knowing ; 
You've  got  a  decent  tongue 

Whene'er  'tis  set  a-going. 

Only  say 
YouUl  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan  ; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 


Humorous  Verse  211 

VI. 

For  a  wife  till  death 

I  am  willing  to  take  ye  ; 
But,  och  !  1  waste  my  breath, 

The  devil  himself  can't  wake  ye. 
' Tis  just  beginning  to  rain, 

So  I'll  get  under  cover  ; 
To-morrow  I'll  come  again, 

And  be  your  constant  lover. 

Only  say 
Yot^ll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan  ; 

DonH  say  nay. 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

THE    UNIVERSITY   OF    GOTTINGEN 
By  George  Canning. 

Whene'er  with  haggard  eyes  I  view 

This  dungeon  that  I'm  rotting  in, 
I  think  of  those  companions  true 
Who  studied  with  me  at  the  U— 
— niversity  of  Gottingen — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

Sweet  kerchief,  check'd  with  heavenly  blue 

Which  once  my  love  sat  knotting  in  ! — 
Alas  !  Matilda  then  was  true  ! 
At  least  1  thought  so  at  the  U — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen  — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

Barbs  !  Barbs  !  alas  !  how  swift  you  flew. 

Her  neat  post-waggon  trotting  in  ! 
Ye  bore  Matilda  from  my  view ; 
Forlorn  I  languish'd  at  the  U— 
— niversity  of  Gottingen — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 


HumofOtts  Verse 

This  faded  form  !  this  pallid  hue  ! 

This  blood  my  veins  is  clotting  in, 
My  years  are  many — they  were  few 
When  first  I  entered  at  the  U — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

There  first  for  thee  my  passion  grew, 

Sweet  !  sweet  Matilda  Pottingen  ! 

Thou  wast  the  daughter  of  my  tu — 

-tor,  law  professor  at  the  U — 

— niversity  of  Gottingen — 

— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

Sun,  moon,  and  thou  vain  world,  adieu, 
That  kings  and  priests  are  plotting  in 
Here  doom'd  to  starve  on  water  gru — 
—  el,  never  shall  I  see  the  U — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

FAITHLESS    NELLY  GRAY. 

A  PATHETIC   BALLAD. 

By  Thomas  Hood. 
Ben  Battle  was  a  soldier  bold, 

And  used  to  war's  alarms  ; 
But  a  cannon  ball  took  off  his  legs. 

So  he  laid  down  his  arms  ! 

Now  as  they  bore  him  off  the  field. 
Said  he,  "  Let  others  shoot. 

For  here  I  leave  my  second  leg, 
And  the  Forty-second  Foot  I " 

The  army-surgeons  made  him  limbs  : 
Said  he — "  They're  only  pegs  : 

But  there's  as  wooden  members  quite 
As  represent  my  legs  I  " 


Humorous  Verse  213 

Now  Ben  he  loved  a  pretty  maid, 

Her  name  was  Nelly  Gray  ; 
So  he  went  to  pay  her  his  devours 

When  he'd  devoured  his  pay  I 

But  when  he  called  on  Nelly  Gray, 

She  made  him  quite  a  scoff; 
And  when  she  saw  his  wooden  legs, 

Began  to  take  them  off! 

"O  Nelly  Gray  :  O  Nelly  Gray  ! 

Is  this  your  love  so  warm  ? 
The  love  that  loves  a  scarlet  coat, 

Should  be  more  uniform  I  " 

She  said,  '*  1  loved  a  soldier  once. 

For  he  was  blithe  and  brave  ; 
But  I  will  never  have  a  man 

With  both  legs  in  the  grave  ! 

"  Before  you  had  those  timber  toes, 

Your  love  I  did  allow, 
But  then,  you  know,  you  stand  upon 

Another  footing  now  I " 

"  O  Nelly  Gray  !    O  Nelly  Gray  ! 

For  all  your  jeering  speeches, 
At  duty's  call  I  left  my  legs 

In  Badajos's  breaches  /" 

"Why  then,"  said  she,  "you've  lost  the  feet 

Of  legs  in  war's  alarms, 
And  now  you  cannot  wear  your  shoes 

Upon  your  feats  of  arms  ! " 

"Oh,  false  and  fickle  Nelly  Gray, 

I  know  why  you  refuse: — 
Though  I've  no  feet — some  other  man 

Is  standing   in  my  shoes  I 


214  Humofoas  Verse 

"  I  wish  I  ne'er  had  seen  your  face  ; 

But  now  a  long  farewell ! 
For  you  will  be  my  death  : — alas  I 

You  will  not  be  my  Nell!" 

Now  when  he  went  home  from  Nelly  Gray, 

His  heart  so  heavy  got — 
And  life  was  such  a  burthen  grown, 

It  made  him  take  a  knot ! 

So  round  his  melancholy  neck 

A  rope  he  did  entwine, 
And,  for  his  second  time  in  life, 

Enlisted  in  the  Line  ! 

One  end  he  tied  around  a  beam, 

And  then  removed  his  pegs, 
And,  as  his  legs  were  off, — of  course 

He  soon  was  off  his  legs  I 

And  there  he  hung  till  he  was  dead 

As  any  nail  in  town, — 
For  though  distress  had  cut  him  up, 

It  could  not  cut  him  down  ! 

A  dozen  men  sat  on  his  corpse, 

To  find  out  why  he  died — 
And  they  buried  Ben  at  four  cross-roads. 

With  a  stake  in  his  inside  ! 


WHEN    MOONLIKE    ORE    THE    HAZURE 
SEAS. 

By  W.  M.  Thackeray. 

When  moonlike  ore  the  hazure  seas 

In  soft  efifulgence  swells. 
When  silver  jews  and  balmy  breaze 

Bend  down  the  Lily's  bells  ; 


Humorous  Verse  215 

When  calm  and  deap,  the  rosy  sleap 

Has  lapt  your  soal  in  dreems, 
R  Hangeline  I  R  lady  mine  I 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames  ? 

I  mark  thee  in  the  Marble  All, 

Where  England's  loveliest  shine — 
I  say  the  fairest  of  them  hall 

Is  Lady  Hangeline. 
My  soul,  in  desolate  eclipse, 

With  recollection  teems — 
And  then  I  hask,  with  weeping  lips. 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames  ? 

Away  !  I  may  not  tell  thee  hall 

This  soughring  heart  endures — 
There  is  a  lonely  sperrit-call 

That  Sorrow  never  cures  ; 
There  is  a  little,  little  Star, 

That  still  above  me  beams  ; 
It  is  the  Star  of  Hope — but  ar ! 

Dost  thou, remember  Jeames  ? 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 
By  Lord  Byron. 

There  is  an  awkward  thing  which  much  perplexes, 
Unless  like  wise  Tiresias  we  had  proved 

By  turns  the  difference  of  the  several  sexes  ; 

Neither  can  show  quite  hoiv  they  would  be  loved, 

The  sensual  for  a  short  time  but  connects  us — 
The  sentimental  boasts  to  be  unmoved  ; 

But  both  together  form  a  kind  of  centaur. 

Upon  whose  back  't  is  better  not  to  venture. 


2 1 6  Humorous  Vcfsc 

A  something  all-sufficient  for  the  heart 

Is  that  for  which  the  sex  are  always  seeking  : 

But  how  to  fill  up  that  same  vacant  part  ? 

There  lies  the  rub— and  this  they  are  but  weak  in, 

Frail  mariners  afloat  without  a  chart, 

They  run  before   the    wind  through    high  seas 
breaking  ; 

And  when  they  have  made  the  shore  through  every 
shock, 

T  is  odd,  or  odds,  it  may  turn  out  a  rock. 

There  is  a  flower  call'd  "  Love  in  Idleness," 

For    which    see    Shakespeare's    ever-blooming 
garden  ;  — 

I  will  not  make  his  great  description  less, 
And  beg  his  British  godship's  humble  pardon, 

If,  in  my  extremity  of  rhyme's  distress, 

I  touch  a  single  leaf  where  he  is  warden  ;  — 

But  though  the  flower  is  different,  with  the  French 

Or  Swiss  Rousseau,  cry  "  Voild  la  Pervenche  /" 

Eureka  I  I  have  found  it  I  What  I  mean 

To  say  is,  not  that  love  is  idleness. 
But  that  in  love  such  idleness  has  been 

An  accessory,  as  I  have  cause  to  guess, 
Hard  labour 's  an  indifferent  go-between  ; 

Your  men  of  business  are  not  apt  to  express 
Much  passion,  since  the  merchant-ship,  the  Argo, 
Convey'd  Medea  as  her  supercargo. 

"  Beatus  ille ^rocul!  "  from  "  ne^^otiis" 

Saith  Horace  :  the  great  little  poet 's  wrong ; 

His  other  maxim,  " Noscitur  a  soctis" 
Is  much  more  to  the  purpose  of  his  song  ; 

Though  even  that  were  sometimes  too  ferocious. 
Unless  good  company  be  kept  too  long  ; 

But,  in  his  teeth,  whate'er  their  state  or  station, 

Thrice  happy  they  who  haTe  an  occupation  I 


Humorous  Verse  217 

Adam  exchanged  his  Paradise  for  ploughing, 
Eve  made  up  miUinery  with  fig  leaves — 

The  earliest  knowledge  from  the  tree  so  knowing, 
As  far  as  I  know,  that  the  church  receives  : 

And    since    that    time  it    need    not    cost    much 
showing, 
That  many  of  the  ills  o'er  which  man  grieves, 

And  still  more  women,  spring  from  not  employing 

Some  hours  to  make  the  remnant  worth  enjoying. 

And  hence  high  life  is  oft  a  dreary  void, 
A  rack  of  pleasure,  where  we  must  invent 

A  something  wherewithal  to  be  annoy'd. 

Bards  may  sing  what  they  please  about  Content ; 

Contented^  when  translated,  means  but  cloy'd  ; 
And  hence  arise  the  woes  of  sentiment. 

Blue  devils,  and  blue-stockings,  and  romances 

Reduced  to  practice,  and  perform'd  like  dances. 

I  do  declare,  upon  an  afifidavit. 

Romances  I  ne'er  read  like  those  I  have  seen  ; 
Nor,  if  unto  the  world  I  ever  gave  it. 

Would  some  believe  that  such  a  tale  had  been  : 
But  such  intent  I  never  had,  nor  have  it ; 

Some  truths  are  better  kept  behind  a  screen. 
Especially  when  they  would  look  like  lies  ; 
I  therefore  deal  in  generalities. 

"  An  oyster  may  be  cross'd  in  love,"— and  why  ? 

Because  he  mopeth  idly  in  his  shell. 
And  heaves  a  lonely  subterraqueous  sigh, 

Much  as  a  monk  may  do  within  his  cell : 
And  a  ^ropos  of  monks,  their  piety 

With  sloth  hath  found  it  difficult  to  dwell  ; 
Those  vegetables  of  the  Catholic  creed 
Are  apt  e.xceedingly  to  run  to  seed. 


2i8  Humorous  Verse 

O  Wilberforce  I  thou  man  of  black  renown, 
Whose  merit  none  enough  can  sing  or  say, 

Thou  hast  struck  one  immense  Colossus  down, 
Thou  moral  Washington  of  Africa ! 

But  there  's  another  little  thing,  I  own. 

Which  you   should  perpetrate  some  summer's 
day. 

And  set  the  other  half  of  earth  to  rights  ; 

You  have  freed  the  blacks — now  pray  shut  up  the 
whites. 

Shut  up  the  bald-coot  bully  Alexander  I 
Ship  off  the  Holy  Three  to  Senegal ; 

Teach  them  that  "sauce  for  goose  is  sauce  for 
gander," 
And  ask  them  how  they  like  to  be  in  thrall  ? 

Shut  up  each  high  heroic  salamander, 
Who  eats  fire  gratis  (since  the  pay  's  but  small) ; 

Shut  up — no,  not  the  King,  but  the  Pavilion, 

Or  else  't  will  cost  us  all  another  million. 

Shut  up  the  world  at  large,  let  Bedlam  out ; 

And  you  will  be  perhaps  surprised  to  find 
All  things  pursue  exactly  the  same  route, 

As  now  with  those  of  soi-disant  sound  mind. 
This  I  could  prove  beyond  a  single  doubt, 

Were  there  a  jot  of  sense  among  mankind  ; 
But  till  thaX.  point  d apput  is  found,  alas  ! 
Like  Archimedes,  I  leave  earth  as  't  was. 


THE    SORROWS    OF    WERTHER. 
By  W.  M.  Thackeray. 

Werther  had  a  love  for  Charlotte 
Such  as  words  could  never  utter ; 

Would  you  know  how  first  he  met  her? 
She  was  cutting  bread  and  butter. 


Humorous  Verse  219 

Charlotte  was  a  married  lady, 

And  a  moral  man  was  Werther, 
And  for  all  the  wealth  of  Indies, 

Would  do  nothing  for  to  hurt  her. 

So  he  sigh'd  and  pined  and  ogled, 
And  his  passion  boil'd  and  bubbled, 

Till  he  blew  his  silly  brains  out. 
And  no  more  was  by  it  troubled. 

Charlotte,  having  seen  his  body 

Borne  before  her  on  a  shutter, 
Like  a  well-conducted  person, 

Went  on  cutting  bread  and  butter. 


JOHN   TROT. 

A  BALLAD. 

By  Thomas  Hood. 

L 

John  Trot  he  was  as  tall  a  lad 

As  York  did  ever  rear — 
As  his  dear  Granny  used  to  say, 

He'd  make  a  grenadier. 

II. 
A  sergeant  soon  came  down  to  York, 

With  ribbons  and  a  frill  ; 
My  lads,  said  he,  let  broadcast  be, 

And  come  away  to  drill. 

III. 
But  when  he  wanted  John  to  'list. 

In  war  he  saw  no  fun. 
Where  what  is  called  a  raw  recruit 

Gets  often  over-done. 


220  Humorous  Verse 

IV, 

Let  others  carry  guns,  said  he, 

And  go  to  war's  alarms, 
But  I  have  got  a  shoulder-knot 

Imposed  upon  my  arms. 

V. 
For  John  he  had  a  footman's  place 

To  wait  on  Lady  Wye  — 
She  was  a  dumpy  woman,  tho' 

Her  family  was  high. 

VI. 
Now  when  two  years  had  passed  away. 

Her  lord  took  very  ill, 
And  left  her  to  her  widowhood. 

Of  course  more  dumpy  still. 

VII. 
Said  John,  I  am  a  proper  man, 

And  very  tall  to  see  ; 
Who  knows,  but  now  her  lord  is  low. 

She  may  look  up  to  me  ? 

VIII. 

A  cunning  woman  told  me  once. 
Such  fortune  would  turn  up  ; 

She  was  a  kind  of  sorceress. 
But  studied  in  a  cup  ! 

IX. 

So  he  walked  up  to  Lady  Wye, 
And  took  her  quite  amazed, — 

She  thought,  tho'  John  was  tall  enough 
He  wanted  to  be  raised. 


Humofotjs  Verse  221 

X. 

But  John— for  why?  she  was  a  dame 

Of  sueh  a  dwarfish  sort — 
Had  only  come  to  bid  her  make 

Her  mourning  very  short. 

XI. 

Said  he,  your  lord  is  dead  and  cold, 

You  only  cry  in  vain  ; 
Not  all  the  cries  of  London  now 

Could  call  him  back  again  ! 

XII. 

You'll  soon  have  many  a  noble  beau, 

To  dry  your  noble  tears — 
But  just  consider  this,  that  I 

Have  followed  you  for  years. 

XIII. 

And  tho'  you  are  above  me  far. 

What  matters  high  degree. 
When  you  are  only  four  foot  nine, 

And  I  am  six  foot  three  ! 

XIV. 

For  tho'  you  are  of  lofty  race, 

And  I'm  a  low-born  elf; 
Yet  none  among  your  friends  could  say. 

You  matched  beneath  yourself. 

XV. 

Said  she,  such  insolence  as  this 

Can  be  no  common  case  ; 
Tho'  you  are  in  my  service,  sir. 

Your  love  is  out  of  place. 


22  2  Humorous  Verse 

XVI. 

O  Lady  Wye  !  O  Lady  Wye  ! 

Consider  what  you  do  ; 
How  could  you  be  so  short  with  me, 

I  am  not  so  with  you  ! 

XVII. 

Then  ringing  for  her  serving  men, 
They  showed  him  to  the  door  : 

Said  they,  you  turn  out  better  now. 
Why  didn't  you  before  ? 

XVIII. 

They  stripped  his  coat,  and  gave  him^kicks 

For  all  his  wages  due  ; 
And  off,  instead  of  green  and  gold, 

He  went  in  black  and  blue. 

XIX. 
No  family  would  take  him  in, 

Because  of  his  discharge  ; 
So  he  made  up  his  mind  to  serve 

The  country  all  at  large. 

XX. 

Huzza  !  the  sergeant  cried,  and  put 

The  money  in  his  hand, 
And  with  a  shilling  cut  him  off 

From  his  paternal  land. 

XXI. 

For  when  his  regiment  went  to  fight 

At  Saragossa  town, 
A    Frenchman    thought    he   looked  too 
tall. 

And  so  he  cut  him  down  ! 


Humorous  Verse  223 

FATHER    O'FLYNN. 
By  Alfred  Perceval  Graves. 

Of  priests  we  can  offer  a  charmin'  variety, 
Far  renowned  for  larnin'  and  piety  ; 
Still,  I'd  advance  ye,  widout  impropriety, 
Father  O'Flynn  as  the  flower  of  them  all. 

Chorus. 
Here's  a  health  to  you,  Father  O'  Flynn, 
Slainte,  and  slainte,  and  slainte  agin  ; 

Powerfulest  ;preacher,  and 

Tenderest  teacher^  and 
Kindliest  creature  in  ould  Donegal. 

Don't  talk  of  your  Provost  and  Fellows  of  Trinity, 
Famous  for  ever  at  Greek  and  Latinity, 
Dad  and  the  divels  and  all  at  Divinity, 

Father  O'Flynn  'd  make  hares  of  them  all ! 
Come,  I  venture  to  give  ypu  my  word. 
Never  the  likes  of  his  logic  was  heard, 
Down  from  Mythology 
Into  Thayology, 
Troth  !  and  Conchology  ii  he'd  the  call. 
Chorus. 

Och !  Father  O'Flynn,  you've  the  wonderful  way 

wid  you, 
All  ould  sinners  are  wishful  to  pray  wid  you. 
All  the  young  childer  are  wild  for  to  play  wid  you, 
You've  such  a  way  wid  you,  Father  avick  ! 
Still  for  all  you've  so  gentle  a  soul, 
Gad,  you've  your  flock  in  the  grandest  control; 
Checking  the  crazy  ones, 
Coaxin'  onaisy  ones, 
Liftin'  the  lazy  ones  on  wid  the  stick. 
Chorus. 


224  Humorous  Verse 

And  though  quite  avoidin'  all  foolish  frivolity, 
Still  at  all  seasons  of  innocent  jollity, 
Where  was  the  play-boy  could  claim  an  equality 
At  comicality,  Father,  wid  you  ? 

Once  the  Bishop  looked  grave  at  your  jest. 
Till  this  remark  set  him  off  wid  the  rest  : 
"Is  it  lave  gaiety 
All  to  the  laity  ? 
Cannot  the  clargy  be  Irishmen  too?" 
Choms. 


ALLISTER  M'ALLISTER. 

Anon, 

O  Allister  M'Allister, 
Your  chanter  sets  us  a'  astir. 
Then  to  your  bags  and  blaw  wi'  birr, 
We'll  dance  the  Highland  fling. 
Now  Allister  has  tuned  his  pipes. 
And  thrang  as  bumbees  frae  their  bykes. 
The  lads  and  lasses  loup  the  dykes. 
And  gather  on  the  green. 

O  Allister  M 'Allister,  &c. 

The  Miller,  Hab,  was  fidgin'  fain 

To  dance  the  Highland  fling  his  lane, 

He  lap  as  high  as  Elspa's  wame, 

The  like  was  never  seen  ; 
As  round  about  the  ring  he  whuds, 
And  cracks  his  thumbs  and  shakes  his  duds, 
The  meal  flew  frae  his  tails  in  cluds, 

And  blinded  a'  their  een. 

O  Allister  M 'Allister,  &c. 


Humorous  Verse  --5 

Neist  rauchle-handed  smiddy  Jock, 
A'  blacken'd  o'er  wi'  coom  and  smoke, 
Wi'  shauchlin'*  blear-e'ed  Bess  did  yoke, 

That  slaverin'-gabbit  quean. 
He  shook  his  doublet  in  the  wund, 
His  feet  Hke  hammers  strack  the  grund, 
The  very  moudiwarts  were  stunn'd, 

Nor  kenn'd  what  it  could  mean. 
O  Allister  M'Allister,  &c. 

Now  wanton  Willie  was  nae  blate, 
For  he  got  haud  o'  winsome  Kate, 
"  Come  here,"  quo'  he,  "  I'll  show  the  gate 

To  dance  the  Highland  fling." 
The  Highland  fling  he  danced  wi'  glee, 
And  lap  as  he  were  gaun  to  flee ; 
Kate  beck'd  and  bobb'd  sae  bonnilie, 

And  tript  it  light  and  clean. 
O  Allister  M'Allister,  &c. 

Now  Allister  has  done  his  best. 
And  weary  houghsf  are  wantin'  rest. 
Besides  they  sair  wi'  drouth  were  strest, 

Wi'  dancin'  sae  I  ween. 
I  trow  the  gauntrees  gat  a  lift, 
And  round  the  bicker+  flew  like  drift, 
And  Allister  that  very  night, 

Could  scarcely  stand  his  lane. 
O  Allister  M'Allister,  &c. 

MONEY. 
By  Lord  Byrox. 

How  beauteous  are  rouleaus  I  how  charming  chests 
Containing  ingots,  bags  of  dollars,  coins 

(Not  of  old  victors,  all  whose  heads  and  crests 
Weigh  not  the  thin  ore  where  their  visage  shines, 

*  Broken  Jown.  +  Legs.  t  Bowl. 


226  Humorous  Verse 

But)  of  fine  unclipt  gold,  where  dully  rests 
Some    likeness,    which     the    glittering    cirque 
confines. 
Of  modern,  reigning,  sterling,  stupid  stamp  : 
Yes  !  ready  money  is  Aladdin's  lamp. 

"  Love  rules  the  camp,  the  court,  the  grove, — for 
love 

Is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love  : " — so  sings  the 
bard  ; 
Which  it  were  rather  difficult  to  prove 

(A  thing  with  poetry  in  general  hard). 
Perhaps  there  may  be  something  in  "  the  grove," 

At  least  it  rhymes  to  "  love  "  :  but  I'm  prepared 
To  doubt  (no  less  than  landlords  of  their  rental) 
If  "  courts  "  and  "  camps  "  be  quite  so  sentimental. 

But  if  Love  don't.  Cash  does,  and  cash  alone 

Cash  rules  the  grove,  and  fells  it  too  besides  ; 
Without  cash,  camps  were  thin,  and  courts  were 
none ; 
Without    cash,    Malthus    tells    you  — "  take   no 
brides." 
So  Cash  rules  Love  the  Ruler,  on  his  own 

High  ground,  as  virgin  Cynthia  sways  the  tides  : 
And  as  for  "  Heaven  being   Love,"  why  not  say 

honey 
Is  wax  I     Heaven  is  not  Love,  't  is  Matrimony. 


THE   DEVIL'S   THOUGHTS. 

By  S.  T.  Coleridge. 

From  his  brimstone  bed  at  break  of  day 
A-walking  the  Devil  is  gone. 
To  visit  his  snug  little  farm  upon  earth, 
And  see  how  his  stock  goes  on. 


Humorous  Verse  227 

Over  the  hill  and  over  the  dale, 

And  he  went  over  the  plain, 

And  backward  and  forward  he  switched  his  .long 

tail, 
As  a  gentleman  switches  his  cane. 

And  how,  then,  was  the  Devil  drest  ? 

Oh,  he  was  in  his  Sunday  best ; 

His  jacket  was  red,  and  his  breeches  were  blue, 

And  there  was  a  hole  where  his  tail  came  through. 

He  saw  a  lawyer  killing  a  viper 

On  a  dunghill  hard  by  his  own  stable ; 

And  the  Devil  smiled,  for  it  put  him  in  mind 

Of  Cain  and  his  brother  Abel. 

He  saw  an  apothecary  on  a  white  horse 
Ride  by  on  his  own  vocations ; 
And  the  Devil  thought  of  his  old  friend 
Death  in  the  Revelations. 

He  saw  a  cottage  with  a  double  coach-house, 
A  cottage  of  gentility  ; 
And  the  Devil  did  grin,  for  his  darling  sin 
Is  the  pride  that  apes  humility. 

He  went  into  a  rich  bookseller's  shop  : 
Quoth  he,  we  are  both  of  one  college. 
For  I  myself  sate  like  a  cormorant  once, 
Fast  by  the  tree  of  knowledge. 

Down  the  river  there  plied,  with  wind  and  tide, 

A  pig,  with  vast  celerity, 

And  the  Devil  looked  wise  as  he   saw  how  the 

while 
It   cut  its  own   throat.     There !   quoth  he,  with  a 

smile. 
Goes  "  England's  commercial  prosperity." 


2  28  Humorous  Verse 

As  he  went  through  Cold- Bath  Fields  he  saw 
A  solitary  cell ; 

And  the  Devil  was  pleased,  for  it  gave  him  a  hint 
For  improving  his  prisons  in  hell. 

General  Gascoigne's  burning  face 

He  saw  with  consternation  ; 

And  back  to  hell  his  way  did  take, 

For  the  Devil  thought  by  a  slight  mistake^ 

'Twas  a  general  conflagration. 


THE    MALTVVORM'S    MADRIGAL. 
By  Austin  Dobson. 

I  DRINK  ot  the  Ale  of  Southwark,  I  drink  of  the 

Ale  of  Chepe ; 
At  noon  I  dream  on  the  settle ;  at  night  I  cannot 

sleep ; 
For  my  love,  my  love  it  groweth  ;  I  waste  me  all 

the  day  ; 
And  when  I  see  sweet  Alison,  I  know  not  what  to 

say. 

The  sparrow  when  he  spieth  his  Dear  upon  the 

tree, 
He  beateth  to  his  little  wing;  he  chirketh  lustily; 
But  when  I  see  sweet  Alison,  the  words  begin  to 

fail; 
I  wot  that  I  shall  die  of  Love — an  I  die  not  of  Ale. 

Her  lips  are  like  the    muscadel  ;   her  brows   are 

black  as  ink ; 
Her  eyes  are  bright  as  beryl  stones  that   in  the 

tankard  wink  ; 
But  when  she  sees  me  coming,  she  shrilleth  out — 

"Te-Heel 
Fye  on  thy  ruddy  nose,  Cousin,  what  lackest  thou 

of  me?" 


Humorous   Verse  229 

'  Fye  on  thy  ruddy  nose,  Cousin  I     Why  be  thine 

eyes  so  small  ? 
Why  go  thy  legs  tap-lappetty  like  men  that  fear  to 

fall? 
Why  is  thy  leathern  doublet  besmeared  with  stain 

and  spot  ? 
Go  to.     Thou  art  no  man  (she  saith) — thou  art  a 

Pottle-pot  : " 

"  Xo  man,"  i'  faith.     "  No  man  1 "  she  saith.     And 

"  Pottle-pot  "  thereto  ! 
"  Thou  sleepest  like  our  dog  all  day  ;  thou  drink'st 

as  fishes  do." 
I  would  that  I  were  Tibb  the  dog  ;  he  wags  at  her 

his  tail ; 
Or  would  that  I  were  fish,  perdy, — and  all  the  sea 

were  Ale  1 

So  I  drink  of  the  Ale  of  Southwark,  I  drink  of  the 

Ale  of  Chepe ; 
All  day  I  dream  in  the  sunlight ;  I  dream  and  eke 

I  weep, 
But  little  lore  of  loving  can  any  flagon  teach, 
For  when  my  tongue  is  loosed  most,  then  most  I 

lose  my  speech. 


THE    BALLAD    OF    BOUILLABAISSE. 
By  W.  M.  Thackeray. 

A  STREET  there  is  in  Paris  famous, 

For  which  no  rhyme  our  language  yields, 
Rue  Neuve  des  Petits  Champs  its  name  is — 

The  New  Street  of  the  Little  Fields. 
And  here's  an  inn,  not  rich  and  splendid, 

But  still  in  comfortable  case  ; 
The  which  in  youth  I  oft  attended. 

To  eat  a  bowl  of  Bouillabaisse. 


23°  Humorous  Verse 

This  Bouillabaisse  a  noble  dish  is — 

A  sort  of  soup,  or  broth,  or  brew, 
Or  hotchpotch  of  all  sorts  of  fishes, 

That  Greenwich  never  could  outdo  : 
Green  herbs,  red  peppers,  mussels,  saffron, 

Soles,  onions,  garlic,  roach,  and  dace : 
All  these  you  eat  at  Terre's  tavern 

In  that  one  dish  of  Bouillabaisse. 


Indeed,  a  rich  and  savoury  stew  'tis  ; 

And  true  philosophers,  methinks, 
Who  love  all  sorts  of  natural  beauties, 

Should  love  good  victuals  and  good  drinks. 
And  Cordelier  or  Benedictine 

Might  gladly,  sure,  his  lot  embrace. 
Nor  find  a  fast-day  too  afflicting. 

Which  served  him  up  a  Bouillabaisse. 

I  wonder  if  the  house  still  there  is  ? 

Yes,  here  the  lamp  is,  as  before  ; 
The  smiling  red-cheeked  ecaillere  is 

Still  opening  oysters  at  the  door. 
Is  Terre  still  alive  and  able  ? 

I  recollect  his  droll  grimace  : 
He'd  come  and  smile  before  your  table. 

And  hope  you  liked  your  Bouillabaisse. 

We  enter — nothing's  changed  or  older. 

"  How's  Monsieur  Terre,  waiter,  pray  ?" 
The  waiter  stares,  and  shrugs  his  shoulder — 

"  Monsieur  is  dead  this  many  a  day." 
"  It  is  the  lot  of  saint  and  sinner. 

So  honest  Terre's  run  his  race." 
"What  will  Monsieur  require  for  dinner?  " 

"  Say,  do  you  still  cook  Bouillabaisse  ?  " 


Humorous  Verse  231 

"  Oh,  oui,  Monsieur,"  's  the  waiter's  answer  ; 

"  Quel  vin  Monsieur  desire-t-il  ?  " 
"  Tell  me  a  good  one." — "  That  I  can,  Sir : 

The  Chambertin  with  yellow  seal." 
"  So  Terre's  gone,"  I  say,  and  sink  in 

My  old  accustom'd  corner-place  ; 
"  He's  done  with  feasting  and  with  drinking, 

With  Burgundy  and  with  Bouillabaisse." 


My  old  accustom'd  corner  here  is. 

The  table  still  is  in  the  nook ; 
Ah  !  vanished  many  a  busy  year  is 

This  well-known  chair  since  last  I  took. 
When  first  I  saw  ye,  cart  liioghi^ 

I'd  scarce  a  beard  upon  my  face. 
And  now  a  grizzled,  grim  old  fogy, 

I  sit  and  wait  for  Bouillabaisse. 


Where  are  you,  old  companions  trusty 

Of  early  days  here  met  to  dine  ? 
Come,  waiter  !  quick,  a  flagon  crusty — 

I'll  pledge  them  in  the  good  old  wine. 
The  kind  old  voices  and  old  faces 

My  memory  can  quick  retrace  ; 
Around  the  board  they  take  their  places. 

And  share  the  wine  and  Bouillabaisse. 

There's  Jack  has  made  a  wondrous  marriage 

There's  laughing  Tom  is  laughing  yet ; 
There's  brave  Augustus  drives  his  carriage  ; 

There's  poor  old  Fred  in  the  Gazette  ; 
On  James's  head  the  grass  is  growing  : 

Good  Lord  I  the  world  has  wagged  apace 
Since  here  we  set  the  claret  flowing. 

And  drank,  and  ate  the  Bouillabaisse. 


232  Humorous  Verse 

Ah  me  I  how  quick  the  days  are  flitting ! 

I  mind  me  of  a  time  that's  gone, 
When  here  I'd  sit,  as  now  I'm  sitting, 

In  this  same  place — but  not  alone. 
A  fair  young  form  was  nestled  near  me, 

A  dear  dear  face  looked  fondly  up, 
And  sweetly  spoke  and  smiled  to  cheer  me 

— There's  no  one  now  to  share  my  cup. 

I  drink  it  as  the  Fates  ordain  it. 

Come,  fill  it,  and  have  done  with  rhymes : 
Fill  up  the  lonely  glass,  and  drain  it 

In  memory  of  dear  old  times. 
Welcome  the  wine,  whate'er  the  seal  is  ; 

And  sit  you  down  and  say  your  grace 
With  thankful  heart,  whate'er  the  meal  is. 

— Here  comes  the  smoking  Bouillabaisse 


THERE  DWALT  A  MAN. 
By  Allan  Cunningham. 

There  dwalt  a  man  into  the  west, 

And  O  gin  he  was  cruel. 
For  on  his  bridal  night  at  e'en 

He  gat  up  and  grat  for  gruel. 
They  brought  to  him  a  gude  sheep  head, 

A  napkin  and  a  towel  : 
Gar  tak'  thae  whim-whams  far  frae  me. 

And  bring  to  me  my  gruel. 

But  there's  nae  meal  in  a'  the  house. 
What  will  we  do,  muy  jewel  ? 

Get  up  tbe  powk  and  shake  it  out, 
I  winna  want  my  gruel. 


Htimoroos  Verse  233 

But  there's  nae  milk  in  a'  the  house, 

Nor  yet  a  spunk  o'  fuel : 
Gae  warm  it  in  the  light  o'  the  moon, 

I  winna  want  my  gruel. 

O  lake-a-day  for  my  first  wife, 

Wha  was  baith  white  and  rosie, 
She  cheer'd  me  aye  at  e'ening  fa' 

Wi'  something  warm  and  cozie  : 
Farewell  to  pleasant  draps  o'  drink, 

To  butter  brose  and  gruel ; 
And  farewell  to  my  first  sweet  wife, 

My  cannie  Nancy  Newell. 


LITTLE    BILLEE. 

By  W.  M.  Thackeray. 

There  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol  city 
Who  took  a  boat  and  went  to  sea. 
But  first  with  beef  and  captain's  biscuits 
And  pickled  pork  they  loaded  she. 

There  was  gorging  Jack  and  guzzling  Jimmy, 
And  the  youngest  he  was  little  Billee. 
Now  when  they  got  as  far  as  the  Equator 
They'd  nothing  left  but  one  split  pea. 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"  I  am  extremely  hungaree." 
To  gorging  Jack  say§  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"  We've  nothing  left,  us  must  eat  we." 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"With  one  another  we  shouldn't  agree  I 
There's  little  Bill,  he's  young  and  tender. 
We're  old  and  tough,  so  let's  eat  he." 


234  Humorous  Verse 

"  Oh  !  Billy,  we're  going  to  kill  and  eat  you 
So  undo  the  button  of  your  chemie." 
When  Bill  received  this  information 
He  used  his  pocket  handkerchie. 

"  First  let  me  say  my  catechism, 

Which  my  poor  mammy  taught  to  me." 

"  Make  haste,  make  haste,"  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 

While  Jack  pulled  out  his  snickersnee. 

So  Billy  went  up  to  the  main-top  gallant  mast, 
And  down  he  fell  on  his  bended  knee. 
He  scarce  had  come  to  the  twelfth  commandment 
When  up  he  jumps.     "  There's  land  I  see  : 

*'  Jerusalem  and  Madagascar, 
And  North  and  South  Amerikee  : 
There's  the  British  flag  a-riding  at  anchor. 
With  Admiral  Napier,  K.C.B." 

So  when  they  got  aboard  of  the  Admiral's, 
He  hanged  fat  Jack  and  flogged  Jimmee  : 
But  as  for  little  Bill  he  made  him 
The  Captain  of  a  Seventy-three. 


JOHN    BARLEYCORN. 
By  Robert  Burns. 

There  were  three  kings  into  the  east, 
Three  kings  both  great  and  high  ; 

And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 
John  Barleycorn  should  die. 

They  took  a  plough  and  plough'd  him  down. 

Put  clods  upon  his  head  ; 
And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 

John  Barleycorn  was  dead. 


Humorous  Verse  235 

But  the  cheerful  spring  came  kindly  on, 

And  showers  began  to  fall : 
John  Barleycorn  got  up  again, 

And  sore  surprised  thenti  all. 

The  sultry  suns  of  summer  came. 

And  he  grew  thick  and  strong ; 
His  head  weel  arm'd  wi'  pointed  spears, 

That  no  one  should  him  wrong. 

The  sober  autumn  enter'd  mild. 

When  he  grew  wan  and  pale  ; 
His  bending  joints  and  drooping  head 

Show'd  he  began  to  fail.  ' 

His  colour  sicken'd  more  and  more, 

He  faded  into  age  ; 
And  then  his  enemies  began 

To  show  their  deadly  rage. 

They've  ta'en  a  weapon,  long  and  sharp, 

And  cut  him  by  the  knee  ; 
Then  tied  him  fast  upon  a  cart, 

Like  a  rogue  for  forgerie. 

They  laid  him  down  upon  his  back, 

And  cudgell'd  him  full  sore  ; 
They  hung  him  up  before  the  storm. 

And  turn'd  him  o'er  and  o'er. 

They  filled  up  a  darksome  pit 

With  water  to  the  brim  : 
They  heaved  in  John  Barleycorn, 

There  let  him  sink  or  swim. 

They  laid  him  out  upon  the  floor. 

To  work  him  further  woe  : 
And  still,  as  signs  of  life  appear'd, 

They  toss'd  him  to  and  fro. 


236  Httmofous  Verse 

They  wasted  o'er  a  scorching  flame 

The  marrow  of  his  bones  ; 
But  a  miller  used  him  worst  of  all — 

He  crush'd  him  'tween  two  stones. 

And  they  hae  ta'en  his  very  heart's  blood, 
And  drank  it  round  and  round, 

And  still  the  more  and  more  they  drank, 
Their  joy  did  more  abound. 

John  Barleycorn  was  a  hero  bold. 

Of  noble  enterprise  ; 
For  if  you  do  but  taste  his  blood, 

'Twill  make  your  courage  rise. 

'Twill  make  a  man  forget  his  woe  : 

'Twill  heighten  all  his  joy  : 
'Twill  make  the  widow's  heart  to  sing, 

Though  the  tear  were  in  her  eye. 

Then  let  us  toast  John  Barleycorn, 

Each  man  a  glass  in  hand  ; 
And  may  his  great  posterity 

Ne'er  fail  in  old  Scotland  1 


HOCK   VERSUS  F.ALERNIAN. 

(Anon.) 

As  some  Peter-house  fellows,  one  day,  I  have 
heard, 

Were  disputing  which  liquor  old  Horace  pre- 
ferred, 

While  some  were  for  this  sort,  and  others  for  that, 

And  backed  their  belief  with  quotations  c[uite 
pat  ; 


Humorous  Verse  237 

Whilst,    in  spite   of  their  joking,  the  contest  ran 

high, 
And  some  would  have  quarrell'd,  but  couldn't  tell 

why  : 
Old  P — ne,  who  till  now  had  not  moved  tongue  or 

breech, 
Put  an  end  to  the  war  by  this  comical  speech  : — 
"  You  may  talk  of  your  wines,  with  a  name  purely 

classic. 
Such  as  Chian,  Falernian,  Lesbian,  and  Massic  ; 
But  of  this  I  am  sure,  and  it  worthy  of  note  is. 
Hock,  hock  was  his  liquor, — '  Hoc  erat  in  votis  !'  " 


COLOGNE. 

By  S.  T.  Coleridge. 

In  Koln,  a  town  of  monks  and  bones, 

And  pavements  fang'd  with  murderous  stones, 

And  rags,  and  hags,  and  hideous  wenches ; 

I  counted  two  and  seventy  stenches, 

All  well  defined,  and  several  stinks  I 

Ye  Nymphs  that  reign  o'er  sewers  and  sinks. 

The  river  Rhine,  it  is  well  known. 

Doth  wash  your  city  of  Cologne  ; 

But  tell  me,  Nymphs  !  what  power  divine 

Shall  henceforth  wash  the  river  Rhine  ? 


TAM     O'SHANTER. 

By  Robert  Burns. 

When  chapman  billies*  leave  the  street, 
And  drouthy  neibors  neibors  meet. 
As  market  days  are  wearin'  late. 
And  folk  begin  to  tak  the  gate  : 

Pedlars. 


238  Humofoos  Verse 

While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy,* 
And  gettin'  fou  and  unco  happy, 
We  thinkna  on  the  lang  Scots  miles, 
The  mosses,  waters,  slaps,  and  stiles, 
That  lie  between  us  and  our  hame, 
Whare  sits  our  sulky  sullen  dame, 
Gathering  her  brows  like  gathering  storm. 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm. 

This  truth  fand  honest  Tam  o'Shantef, 
As  he  frae  Ayr  ae  night  did  canter 
(Auld  Ayr,  wham  ne'er  a  town  surpasses 
For  honest  men  and  bonny  lasses). 

O  Tam  I  hadst  thou  but  been  sae  wise 

As  ta'en  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice  1 

She  tauld  thee  weel  thou  wast  a  skellum,t 

A  blethering,  blustering,  drunken  blellum  ;| 

That  frae  Nevember  till  October, 

Ae  market  day  thou  wasna  sober  ; 

That  ilka  melder,§  wi'  the  miller 

Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  hadst  siller ; 

That  every  naig  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on, 

The  smith  and  thee  gat  roaring  fou  on  ; 

That  at  the  Lord's  house,  even  on  Sunday, 

Thou  drank  wi'  Kirkton  Jean  till  Monday. 

She  prophesied,  that,  late  or  soon, 

Thou  wouldst  be  found  deep  drown'd  in  Doon  ! 

Or  catch'd  wi'  warlocks  i'  the  mirk. 

By  Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk. 

Ah,  gentle  dames  1  it  gars  me  greet 
To  think  how  mony  counsels  sweet, 
How  mony  lengthen'd,  sage  advices, 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises  ! 

*  Ale.  t  Worthless  fellow. 

+  Boaster.  {  Corn  sent  to  the  mill. 


Humorous  Verse  239 

But  to  our  tale  : — Ae  market  night, 
Tarn  had  got  planted  unco  right, 
Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleezing  finely, 
\Vi'  reaming  swats,=-'  that  drank  divinely ; 
And  at  his  elbow,  Souter  Johnny, 
His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  crony  ; 
Tarn  lo'ed  him  like  a  very  brither— 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither ! 
The  night  drave  on  wi'  sangs  and  clatter, 
And  aye  the  ale  was  growing  better : 
The  landlady  and  Tarn  grew  gracious, 
Wi'  favours  secret,  sweet,  and  precious 
The  Souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories. 
The  landlord's  laugh  was  ready  chorus : 
The  storm  without  might  rair  and  rustle — 
Tarn  didna  mind  the  storm  a  whistle. 


Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy, 
E'en  drown'd  himsel'  amang  the  nappy  ! 
As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure, 
The  minutes  wing'd  their  way  wi'  pleasure  ; 
Kings  may  be  blest,  but  Tam  was  glorious, 
O'er  a'  the  ills  0'  life  victorious  ! 


But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread, 

You  seize  the  flower,  its  bloom  is  shed  I 

Or  like  the  snowfall  in  the  river, 

A  moment  white— then  melts  for  ever; 

Or  like  the  borealis  race. 

That  flit  ere  you  can  point  their  place 

Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form, 

Evanishing  amid  the  storm. 

Nae  man  can  tether  time  or  tide  ; 

The  hour  approaches  Tam  maun  ride  ; 

*  Foaming  ale. 


24°  Humorous  Verse 

That  hour,  o'  night's  black  arch  the  keystane, 
That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast  in  ; 
And  sic  a  night  he  taks  the  road  in 
As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 


The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its  last ; 
The  rattling  showers  rose  on  the  blast ; 
The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallow'd  ; 
Loud,  deep,  and  lang,  the  thunder  bellow'd  : 
That  night,  a  child  might  understand 
The  deil  had  business  on  his  hand. 


Weel  mounted  on  his  grey  mare  Meg, 
A  better  never  lifted  leg, 
Tam  skelpit  on  through  dub  and  mire, 
Despising  wind,  and  rain,  and  fire; 
Whiles  holding  fast  his  guid  blue  bonnet, 
Whiles  crooning  o'er  some  auld  Scots  sonnet ; 
Whiles  glowering  round  wi'  prudent  cares. 
Lest  bogles  catch  him  unawares : 
Kirk-Alloway  was  drawing  nigh, 
Whare  ghaists  and  houlets  nightly  cry. 
By  this  time  he  was  'cross  the  foord, 
Whare  in  the  snaw  the  chapman  smoor'd  ;  " 
And  past  the  birks  and  meikle  stane 
Whare  drunken  Charlie  brak's  neck-bane  : 
And  through  the  whins,  and  by  the  cairn 
Whare  hunters  fand  the  murder'd  bairn  ; 
And  near  the  thorn,  aboon  the  well, 
Whare  Mungo's  mither  hang'd  hersel'. 
Before  him  Doon  pours  a'  his  floods  ; 
The  doubling  storm  roars  through  the  woods ; 
The  lightnings  flash  frae  pole  to  pole ; 
Near  and  more  near  the  thunders  roll ; 

*  Was  smothered. 


Humorous  Verse  241 

When,  glimmering  through  the  groaning  trees, 
Kirk-Alloway  seem'd  in  a  bleeze  ; 
Through  ilka  bore*  the  beams  were  glancing. 
And  loud  resounded  mirth  and  dancing. 


Inspiring  bold  John  Barleycorn  ! 

What  dangers  thou  canst  mak  us  scorn  I 

Wi'  tippenny,  we  fear  nae  evil ; 

Wi'  usquebae,  we'll  face  the  devil  I — 

The  swats  sae  ream'd  in  Tammie's  noddle, 

Fair  play,  he  cared  na  deils  a  boddle. 

But  Maggie  stood  right  sair  astonish'd, 

Till,  by  the  heel  and  hand  admonish'd, 

She  ventured  forward  on  the  light  ; 

And,  wow  I  Tam  saw  an  unco  sight  I 

Warlocks  and  witches  in  a  dance  ; 

Nae  cotillon  brent-new  frae  France, 

But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and  reels, 

Put  life  and  mettle  i'  their  heels  : 

At  winnock-bunker,f  i'  the  east. 

There  sat  auld  Nick,  in  shape  o'  beast ; 

A  towzie  tyke,  black,  grim,  and  large. 

To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge  ; 

He  screw'd  the  pipes,  and  gart  them  skirl, 

Till  roof  and  rafters  a'  did  dirl. 

Coffins  stood  round,  like  open  presses. 

That  shaw'd  the  dead  in  their  last  dresses  ; 

And  by  some  devilish  cantrip^  slight 

Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light, — 

By  which  heroic  Tam  was  able 

To  note  upon  the  haly  table, 

A  murderer's  banes  in  gibbet  aims  ;§ 

Twa  span-lang,  wee,  unchristian  bairns  ; 

A  thief,  new-cutted  frae  a  rape, 

Wi'  his  last  gasp  his  gab  did  gape  ; 

*  Hole  in  the  wall.        +  Window  seat.        t  Spall.        }  Irons. 

R 


242  Humorous  Verse 

Five  tomahawks,  wi'  bluid  red-rusted  ; 
Five  scimitars,  wi'  murder  crusted  ; 
A  garter,  which  a  babe  had  strangled  ; 
A  knife,  a  father's  throat  had  mangled, 
Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft, 
The  grey  hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft  : 
Wi'  mair  o'  horrible  and  awfu', 
Which  even  to  name  wad  be  unlawfu'. 

As  Tammie  glower'd,  amazed  and  curious 

The  mirth  and  fun  grew  fast  and  furious 

The  piper  loud  and  louder  blew. 

The  dancers  quick  and  quicker  flew  ; 

They  reel'd,  they  set,  they  cross'd,  they  cleekit, 

Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit, 

And  coost''^  her  duddies  to  the  wark, 

And  linket  at  it  in  her  sark. 

Now  Tam  I  O  Tam  I  had  thae  been  queans, 

A'  plump  and  strappin'  in  their  teens, 

Their  sarks,  instead  o'  creeshie  flannen,f 

Been  snaw-white  seventeen-hunder]:  linen  ! 

Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair. 

That  ance  were  plush,  o'  guid  blue  hair, 

I  wad  hae  gien  them  aff  my  hurdles, 

For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonny  burdies  I 

But  wither'd  beldams,  auld  and  droll, 
Rigwoodie§  hags,  wad  spean  a  foal, 
Lowpin'  and  flingin'  on  a  cummock,!i 
I  wonder  didna  turn  thy  stomach. 

g!  But  Tam  kenn'd  what  was  what  fu'  brawlie, 
"  There  was  ae  winsome  wench  and  walie," 
gjThat  night  enlisted  in  the  core 
fyl  (Lang  after  kenn'd  on  Carrick  shore  ; 

•  Stripped.  +  Grey  flannel. 

i  Fine  linen  woven  in  a  reed  of  1,700  divisions. 

I  Gallows-worthy.  II  Staff. 


Humorous  Verse  243 

For  mony  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot, 
And  perish'd  mony  a  bonny  boat, 
And  shook  baith  meikle  corn  and  bear. 
And  kept  the  country-side  in  fear). 
Her  cutty  sark,'''  o'  Paisley  harn, 
That,  while  a  lassie,  she  had  worn. 
In  longitude  though  sorely  scanty. 
It  was  her  best,  and  she  was  vauntie. 

Ah  !  little  kenn'd  thy  reverend  grannie. 
That  sark  she  coft  for  her  wee  Nannie, 
Wi'  twa  pund  Scots  ('twas  a'  her  riches), 
Wad  ever  graced  a  dance  o'  witches  ! 

But  here  my  Muse  her  wing  maun  core, 

Sic  flights  are  far  beyond  her  power ; 

To  sing  how  Nannie  lap  and  flang 

(A  souple  jade  she  was,  and  Strang), 

And  how  Tarn  stood,  like  ane  bewitch'd, 

And  thought  his  very  een  enriched. 

Even  Satan  glower'd,  and  fidged  fu'  fain. 

And  hotch'd  and  blew  wi'  might  and  main  ; 

Till  first  ae  caper,  syne  anither, 

Tarn  tint  his  reason  a'  thegither. 

And  roars  out,  "Weel  done,  Cutty-sark !" 

And  in  an  instant  a'  was  dark  : 

And  scarcely  had  he  Maggie  rallied. 

When  out  the  hellish  legion  sallied. 

As  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  lyke,f 

When  plundering  herds  assail  their  byke,| 

As  open  pussie's  mortal  foes. 

When,  pop  !  she  starts  before  their  nose  ; 

As  eager  runs  the  market-crowd. 

When  "  Catch  the  thief!"  resounds  aloud  ; 

So  Maggie  runs,  the  witches  follow, 

Wi'  mony  an  eldritch  screech  and  hollow. 

•  Short  chemise.  ■♦  Fuss.  tHive. 


244  Humorous  Verse 

Ah,  Tarn  !  ah,  Tarn  !  thou'lt  get  thy  fairin' ! 
In  hell  they'll  roast  thee  like  a  herrin'  I 
In  vain  thy  Kate  awaits  thy  comin'  I 
Kate  soon  will  be  a  woefu'  woman  I 
Now,  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg, 
And  win  the  keystane  of  the  brig ; 
There  at  them  thou  thy  tail  may  toss, 
A  running  stream  they  darena  cross  ; 
But  ere  the  keystane  she  could  make, 
The  fient  a  tail  she  had  to  shake  ! 
For  Nannie,  far  before  the  rest, 
Hard  upon  noble  Maggie  prest. 
And  flew  at  Tam  wi'  furious  ettle  ;  '•' 
But  little  wist  she  Maggie's  mettle — 
Ae  spring  brought  off  her  master  hale, 
But  left  behind  her  ain  grey  tail  : 
The  carlin  caught  her  by  the  rump. 
And  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  stump. 

Now,  wha  this  tale  o'  truth  shall  read, 
Ilk  man  and  mother's  son,  take  heed : 
Whane'er  to  drink  you  are  inclined. 
Or  cutty-sarks  run  in  your  mind. 
Think  !  ye  may  buy  the  joys  ower  dear — 
Remember  Tam  o'  Shanter's  mare. 


THE  DONNYBROOK  JIG. 

By  Viscount  Dillon. 

Oh  !  'twas  Dermot  O'Nolan  M'Figg, 
That  could  properly  handle  a  twig, 

He  wint  to  the  fair,  and  kicked  up  a  dust  there, 
In  dancing  a  Donnybrook  jig — with  his  twig. 
Oh  !  my  blessing  to  Dermot  M'Figg. 

♦  Desigfn. 


Humorous  Verse  245 

Whin  he  came  to  the  midst  of  the  fair, 
He  was  all  in  a  paugh  for  fresh  air, 

For  the  fair  very  soon,  was  as  full — as  the  moon, 
Such  mobs  upon  mobs  as  were  there,  oh  rare  ! 
So  more  luck  to  sweet  Donnybrook  Fair. 

But  Dermot,  his  mind  on  love  bent, 
In  search  of  his  sweetheart  he  went, 

Peep'd  in  here  and  there,  as  he  walked  through 
the  fair. 
And  took  a  small  drop  in  each  tent — as  he  went, — 
Oh  1  onwhisky  and  love  he  was  bent. 

And  who  should  he  spy  in  a  jig, 
With  a  meal -man  so  tall  and  so  big, 

But  his  own  darling  Kate,  so  gay  and  so  nate  ? 
Faith  I  her  partner  he  hit  him  a  dig — the  pig, 
He  beat  the  meal  out  of  his  wig. 

The  piper,  to  keep  him  in  tune, 
Struck  up  a  gay  lilt  very  soon  ; 

Until  an  arch  wag  cut  a  hole  in  the  bag, 
And  at  once  put  an  end  to  the  tune — too  soon — 
Och  I  the  music  flew  up  to  the  moon. 

The  meal-man  he  looked  very  shy, 
While  a  great  big  tear  stood  in  his  eye, 

He  cried,  "  Lord,  how  I'm  kilt,  all  alone  for  that 
jilt; 
With  her  may  the  devil  fly  high  in  the  sky, 
For  I'm  murdered,  and  don't  know  for  why." 

"  Oh  ! "  says  Dermot,  and  he  in  the  dance, 
Whilst  a  step  to'ards  his  foe  did  advance, 

"  By  the  Father  of  Men,  say  but  that  word  again. 
And  ril  soon  knock  you  back  in  a  trance — to  your 

dance. 
For  with  me  you'd  have  but  small  chance." 


246  Humorous  Verse 

"  But,"  says  Kitty,  the  darlint,  says  she, 
"  If  you'll  only  just  listen  to  me, 

It's  myself  that  will  show  that  he  can't  be  your 
foe, 
Though  he  fought  for  his  cousin— that's  me,"  says 

she, 
''For  sure  Billy's  related  to  me. 

"  For  my  own  cousin-jarmin,  Anne  Wild, 
Stood  for  Biddy  Mulroony's  first  child  ; 

And   Biddy's    step-son,   sure   he    married    Bess 
Dunn, 
Who  was  gossip  to  Jenny,  as  mild  a  child 
As  ever  at  mother's  breast  smiled. 

"And  may  be  you  don't  know  Jane  Brown, 
Who  served  goat's-whey  in  Dundrum's  sweet  town  ? 
'Twas  her  uncle's  half-brother,  who  married  my 
mother, 
And  bought  me  this  new  yellow  gown,  to  go  down 
When  the  marriage  was  held  in  Milltown." 

"  By  the  powers,  then,"  says  Dermot,  "  'lis  plain, 
Like  the  son  of  that  rapscallion  Cain, 

My  best  friend  I  have  kilt,  though  no  blood  is 
spilt, 
But  the  devil  a  harm  did  I  mane— that's  plain  ; 
And  by  me  he'll  be  ne'er  kilt  again." 


I'M   NOT   A   SINGLE   MAN. 
By  Thomas  Hood. 
I. 
Well,  I  confess,  I  did  not  guess 

A  simple  marriage  vow 
Would  make  me  find  all  women-kind 
Such  unkind  women  now  ! 


Humorous  Verse  :47 

They  need  not,  sure,  as  distant  be 

As  Java  or  Japan, — 
Yet  every  Miss  reminds  me  this — 

I'm  not  a  sing^le  man  ! 

II. 
Once  they  made  choice  of  my  bass  voice 

To  share  in  each  duet ; 
So  well  I  danced,  I  somehow  chanced 

To  stand  in  every  set : 
They  now  declare  I  cannot  sing, 

And  dance  on  Bruin's  plan  ; 
Me  draw  ! — me  paint ! — me  any  thing  !  — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  I 

III. 
Once  I  was  asked  advice,  and  tasked 

What  works  to  buy  or  not, 
And  "  would  I  read  that  passage  out 

I  so  admired  in  Scott  ?  " 
They  then  could  bear  to  hear  me  read  ; 

But  now  if  I  began, 
How  they  would  snub,  "  My  pretty  page," — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  ! 

IV. 

One  used  to  stitch  a  collar  then, 

Another  hemmed  a  frill  ; 
I  had  more  purses  netted  then 

Than  I  could  hope  to  fill. 
I  once  could  get  a  button  on, 

But  now  I  never  can — 
My  buttons,  then  were  Bachelor's  — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  ! 

V. 

Oh  I  how  they  hated  politics 
Thrust  on  me  by  papa  : 


248  Humorous  Verse 

But  now  my  chat — they  all  leave  that 

To  entertain  mamma. 
Mamma,  who  praises  her  own  self, 

Instead  of  Jane  or  Ann, 
And  lays  "her  girls"  upon  the  shelf - 

I'm  not  a  single  man  ! 

VI. 

Ah  me,  how  strange  it  is  the  change. 

In  parlour  and  in  hall, 
They  treat  me  so,  if  I  but  go 

To  make  a  morning  call. 
If  they  had  hair  in  papers  once, 

Bolt  up  the  stairs  they  ran  ; 
They  now  sit  still  in  dishabille — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  ! 

VII. 

Miss  Mary  Bond  was  once  so  fond 

Of  Romans  and  of  Greeks  ; 
She  daily  sought  my  Cabinet 

To  study  my  antiques. 
Well,  now  she  doesn't  care  a  dump 

For  ancient  pot  or  pan. 
Her  taste  at  once  is  modernised — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  1 

VIII. 

My  spouse  is  fond  of  homely  life, 

And  all  that  sort  of  thing  ; 
I  go  to  balls  without  my  wife,     * 

And  never  wear  a  ring  : 
And  yet  each  Miss  to  whom  I  come. 

As  strange  as  Genghis  Khan, 
Knows  by  some  sign,  I  can't  divine — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  ! 


Humorous  Vcfsc  249 

ly. 
Go  where  I  will,  I  but  intrude, 

I'm  left  in  crowded  rooms, 
Like  Zimmerman  on  Solitude, 

Or  Hervey  at  his  Tombs. 
From  head  to  heel,  they  make  me  feel, 

Of  quite  another  clan  ; 
Compelled  to  own,  though  left  alone 

I'm  not  a  single  man  ! 

X. 

Miss  Towne  the  toast,  though  she  can  boast 

A  nose  of  Roman  line. 
Will  turn  up  even  that  in  scorn 

At  compliments  of  mine  : 
She  should  have  seen  that  I  have  been 

Her  sex's  partisan, 
And  really  married  all  I  could  — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  I 

XI. 

Tis  hard  to  see  how  others  fare. 

Whilst  I  rejected  stand, — 
Will  no  one  take  my  arm  because 

They  cannot  have  my  hand  ? 
Miss  Parry,  that  for  some  would  go  ' 

A  trip  to  Hindostan, 
With  me  don't  care  to  mount  a  stair — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  ! 

XII. 

Some  change,  of  course,  should  be  in  force. 

But,  surely,  not  so  much — 
There  may  be  hands  I  may  not  squeeze. 

But  must  I  never  touch  ? 
Must  I  forbear  to  hand  a  chair, 

And  not  pick  up  a  fan  ? 
But  I  have  been  myself  picked  up  — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  ! 


250  Humorous  Verse 

XIIT. 
Others  may  hint  a  lady's  tint 

Is  purest  red  and  white — 
May  say  her  eyes  are  like  the  skies, 

So  very  blue  and  bright  — 
/  must  not  say  that  she  has  eyes, 

Or  if  I  so  began, 
I  have  my  fears  about  my  ears  — 

I'm  not  a  single  man  1 

XIV. 

I  must  confess  I  did  not  guess 

A  simple  marriage  vow 
Would  make  me  find  all  women-kind 

Such  unkind  women  now  ; 
I  might  be  hashed  to  death,  or  smashed 

By  Mr.  Pickford's  van, 
Without,  I  fear,  a  single  tear- 

I'm  not  a  single  man  ! 


THE     FORLORN     ONE. 
By  Rev.  R.  H.  Barham. 

Ah  !  why  those  piteous  sounds  of  woe, 
I>one  wanderer  of  the  dreary  night? 

Thy  gushing  tears  in  torrents  flow, 
Thy  bosom  pants  in  wild  affright  ! 

And  thou,  within  whose  iron  breast 
Those  frowns  austere  too  truly  tell, 

Mild  pity,  heaven-descended  guest. 
Hath  never,  never  deign'd  to  dwell. 

"  That  rude,  uncivil  touch  forego," 
Stern  despot  of  a  fleeting  hour  ! 

Nor  "  make  the  angels  weep"  to  know 
The  fond  "  fantastic  tricks  "  of  power  ! 


Humorous  Verse  251 

Know'st  thou  not  "  mercy  is  not  strain'd, 

But  droppeth  as  the  gentle  dew," 
And  while  it  blesseth  him  who  gain'd, 

It  blesseth  him  who  gave  it,  too  ? 

Say,  what  art  thou  ?  and  what  is  he. 

Pale  victim  of  despair  and  pain, 
Whose  streaming  eyes  and  bended  knee 

Sue  to  thee  thus — and  sue  in  vain  ? 

Cold  callous  man  1 — he  scorns  to  yield. 

Or  aught  relax  his  felon  gripe, 
But  answers,  "  I'm  Inspector  Field 

And  this  here  warment'a  prigg'd  your  wipe." 


SURNAMES. 
By  James  Smith. 

MliN  once  were  surnamed  for  their  shape  or  estate 

fYou  all  may  from  history  worm  it). 
There  was  Louis  the  bulky,  and  Henry  the  Great, 

John  Lackland,  and  Peter  the  Hermit : 
But  now,  when  the  doorplates  of  misters  and 
dames 

Are  read,  each  so  constantly  varies  ; 
From  the  owner's  trade,  figure,  and  calling, 
surnames 

Seem  given  by  the  rule  of  contraries. 

Mr.  Wise  is  a  dunce,  Mr.  King  is  a  whig, 

Mr.  Coffin's  uncommonly  sprightly, 
And  huge  Mr.  Little  broke  down  in  a  gig 

While  driving  fat  Mrs.  Golightly. 
At  Bath,  where  the  feeble  go  more  than  the  stout 

(A  conduct  well  worthy  of  Nero), 
Over  poor  Mr.  Lightfoot,  confined  with  the  gout, 

Mr.  Heavyside  danced  a  bolero. 


«52  Htjmofous  Verse 

Miss  Joy,  wretched  maid,  when  she  chose 
Mr.  Love, 

Found  nothing  but  sorrow  await  her; 
She  now  holds  in  wedlock,  as  true  as  a  dove, 

That  fondest  of  mates,  Mr.  Hayter. 
Mr.  Oldcastle  dwells  in  a  modern-built  hut; 

Miss  Sage  is  of  madcaps  the  archest ; 
Of  all  the  queer  bachelors  Cupid  e'er  cut, 

Old  Mr   Younghusband's  the  starchest. 

Mr.  Child,  in  a  passion,  knock'd  down  Mr.  Rock ; 

Mr.  Stone  like  an  aspen-leaf  shivers ; 
Miss  Pool  used  to  dance,  but  she  stands  like  a 
stock 

Ever  since  she  became  Mrs.  Rivers. 
Mr.  Swift  hobbles  onward,  no  mortal  knows  how. 

He  moves  as  though  cords  had  entwined  him  ; 
Mr.  Metcalf  ran  off  upon  meeting  a  cow, 

With  pale  Mr.  Turn  bull  behind  him, 

Mr.  Barker's  as  mute  as  a  fish  in  the  sea, 

Mr.  Miles  never  moves  on  a  journey, 
Mr.  Gotobed  sits  up  till  half  after  three, 

Mr.  Makepeace  was  bred  an  attorney. 
Mr.  Gardener  can't  tell  a  flower  from  a  root, 

Mr.  Wild  with  timidity  draws  back, 
Mr.  Ryder  pertbrms  all  his  journeys  on  foot, 

Mr.  Foot  all  his  journeys  on  horseback. 

Mr.  Penny,  whose  father  was  rolling  in  wealth, 

Consumed  all  the  fortune  his  dad  won  ; 
Large  Mr.  Le  Fever's  the  picture  of  health  ; 

Mr.  Goodenough  is  but  a  bad  one  ; 
Mr.  Cruikshank  stept  into  three  thousand  a  year 

By  showing  his  leg  to  an  heiress  : 
Now  I  hope  you'll  acknowledge  I've  made  it  quite 
clear 

Surnames  ever  go  by  contraries. 


Humorous  Verse  253 

CAPTAIN  PATON. 

By  J.    G.    LOCKHART. 

Touch  once  more  a  sober  measure, 

And  let  punch  and  tears  be  shed, 
For  a  prince  of  good  old  fellows, 

That,  alack-a-day  !  is  dead. 
For  a  prince  of  worthy  fellows, 

And  a  pretty  man  also, 
That  has  left  the  Saltmarket 

In  sorrow,  grief,  and  woe — 
Oh  I  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain   Paton 
no  mo'e  I 

His  waistcoat,  coat,  and  breeches, 

Were  all  cut  off  the  same  web. 
Of  a  beautiful  snuff-colour, 

Or  a  modest  genty  drab  ; 
The  blue  stripe  in  his  stocking 

Round  his  neat  slim  leg  did  go, 
And  his  ruffles  of  the  cambric  fine 

They  were  whiter  than  the  snow  — 
Oh  1  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  1 

His  hair  was  curled  in  order, 

At  the  rising  of  the  sun, 
In  comely  rows  and  buckles  smart 

That  about  his  ears  did  run  ; 
And  before  there  was  a  toupee. 

That  some  inches  up  did  grow, 
And  behind  there  was  a  long  queue 

That  did  o'er  his  shoulders  flow — 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  ! 


«54  Humofows  Verse 

And  whenever  we  foregathered 

He  took  off  his  wee  three-cockit, 
And  he  proifered  you  his  snuff-box, 

Which  he  drew  from  his  side  pocket, 
And  on  Burdett  or  Bonaparte 

He  would  make  a  remark  or  so. 
And  then  along  the  plainstones 

Like  a  provost  he  would  go  — 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  ! 

In  dirty  days  he  picked  well 

His  footsteps  with  his  rattan, 
Oh  !  you  ne'er  could  see  the  least  speck 

On  the  shoes  of  Captain  Paton  : 
And  on  entering  the  coffee-room 

About  two,  all  men  did  know. 
They  would  see  him  with  his  Courier 

In  the  middle  of  the  row — 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  I 

Now  then  upon  a  Sunday 

He  invited  me  to  dine. 
On  a  herring  and  a  mutton-chop 

Which  his  maid  dressed  very  fine  ; 
There  was  also  a  little  Malmsey 

And  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux, 
Which  between  me  and  the  Captain 

Passed  nimbly  to  and  fro  — 
lOh  !  I  shall  ne'er  take  pot-luck  with  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  ! 

Or  if  a  bowl  was  mentioned. 

The  Captain  he  would  ring, 
And  bid  Nelly  rin  to  the  West-port, 

And  a  stoup  of  water  bring  ; 


Humorous  Verse  255 

Then  would  he  mix  the  genuine  stuft 

As  they  made  it  long  ago, 
With  limes  that  on  his  property 
In  Trinidad  did  grow — 
Oh  1  we  ne'er  shall  taste  the  like  of  Captain  Paton's 
punch  no  mo'e  I 

And  then  all  the  time  he  would  discourse 

So  sensible  and  courteous, 
Perhaps  talking  of  last  sermon 

He  had  heard  from  Dr,  Porteous  ; 
Of  some  little  bit  of  scandal 

About  Mrs.  So  and  So, 
Which  he  scarce  could  credit,  having  heard 

The  con  but  not  the  pro — 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  I 

Or  when  the  candles  were  brought  forth, 

And  the  night  was  fairly  setting  in, 
He  would  tell  some  fine  old  stories 

About  Minden-field  or  Dettingen — 
How  he  fought  with  a  French  Major, 

And  despatched  him  at  a  blow, 
While  his  blood  ran  out  like  water 

On  the  soft  grass  below — 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  hear  the  like  of  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  ! 

But  at  last  the  Captain  sickened. 

And  grew  worse  from  day  to  day. 
And  all  missed  him  in  the  coffee-room, 

From  which  now  he  staid  away  ; 
On  Sabbaths,  too,  the  Wynd  Kirk 

Made  a  melancholy  show, 
All  for  wanting  of  the  presence 

Of  our  venerable  beau  — 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  1 


2  5^  Humofotjs  Vetse 

And  in  spite  of  all  that  Cleghorn 

And  Corkindale  could  do, 
It  was  plain,  from  twenty  symptoms, 

That  death  was  in  his  view  ; 
So  the  Captain  made  his  test'ment 

And  submitted  to  his  foe. 
And  we  laid  him  by  the  Ram's-horn-kirk, 

'Tis  the  way  we  all  must  go — 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  I 

Join  all  in  chorus,  jolly  boys, 

And  let  punch  and  tears  be  shed 
For  this  prince  of  good  old  fellows 

That,  alack-a-day  !  is  dead  ; 
For  this  prince  of  worthy  fellows, 

And  a  pretty  man  also, 
That  has  left  the  Saltmarket 

In  sorrow,  grief,  and  woe  ! 
For  it  ne'er  shall  see  the  Tike  of  Captain  Paton 
no  mo'e  ! 

ADVERTISEMENTS 
By  Sir  George  O.  Trevelyan, 

On  Balaclava's  fatal  plain 

A  wounded  soldier  lies. 
And  as  he  thinks  upon  his  home, 

Tears  dim  his  hardy  eyes  : 
His  dying  charger  struggling  near 

Pants  answer  to  his  sighs. 
"  Curse  that  jack-boot  ! "  he  sadly  cried ; 
"  They  said  'twas  shot-proof^  but  they  lied  ;      ' 

The  villains  took  me  in. 
Would  that,  like  Captain  Gray,  I'd  bought 
At  Samuel  Green's,  6,  Lombard  Court, 

Of  Bishopsgate  Within  !" 


Humorous  Verse  257 

The  mother  sees  a  hectic  flush 

Steal  o'er  her  darling's  face  : 
She  sees  consumption's  fatal  touch 

That  well-loved  form  embrace ; 
And  tearful  murmurs,  as  she  views 

The  dread  disease's  trace, 
"  Woe  worth  that  sad  November  day, 
When  on  the  grass  my  child  would  play 

In  shoes  of  texture  thin. 
Alas,  alas  !  they  were  not  bought 
At  Samuel  Green's,  6,  Lombard  Court, 

Of  Bishopsgate  Within." 

A  century  hence,  when  we  are  dead, 

Some  pensive  Hindoo  swain 
Will  find  a  mouldering  pair  of  Boots 

On  the  wild  Indian  plain  : 
And  he'll  exclaim,  as  eagerly 

He  stoops  the  prize  to  gain  : 
"  The  hero's  name  has  passed  away, 
His  sword  is  rust,  his  form  is  clay  ; 
He  fell  when  England's  firm  array 

The  Kaisembagh  did  win. 
His  boots  remain,  for  they  were  bought 
At  Samuel  Green's,  6,  Lombard  Court, 

Of  Bishopsgate  Within." 


Although  it  is  wrong,  we  must  freely  confess. 
To  judge  of  the  merits  of  folks  by  their  dress. 
Yet  we  cannot  but  think  that  a  shocking  bad  Hat 
Is  a  very  poor  sign  of  a  man,  for  all  that. 

Especially  now  that  James  Johnson  is  willing 
To  touch  up  your  old  ones  in  style  for  a  shilling ; 
And  give  them  a  gloss  of  such  beautiful  hue, 
As  makes  them  look  newer  than  when  they  were 
new. 

S 


258  Humorous  Verse 

For  prices  wonderfully  small, 
Jones  sells  superior  Tea  to  all 

Who  to  his  house  repair. 
Where  else,  he  asks,  can  people  find 
Goodness  and  cheapness  so  combined, 

And  Echo  answers,  Where  ? 


RIGID  BODY  SINGS. 
By  J.  C.  Maxwell. 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Flyin'  through  the  air. 
Gin  a  body  hit  a  body, 

Will  it  fly  ?  and  where  ? 
Ilka  impact  has  its  measure. 

Ne'er  a'  ane  hae  I, 
Yet  a'  the  lads  they  measure  me, 

Or,  at  least,  they  try. 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Altogether  free, 
How  they  travel  afterwards 

We  do  not  always  see. 
Ilka  problem  has  its  method 

By  analytics  high ; 
For  me,  1  ken  na  ane  o'  them. 

But  what  the  waur  am  I  ? 

THE  COLLEGIAN  AND  THE  PORTER. 

By  J.  R.  Blanche, 

At  Trin.  Coll.  Cam. — which  means,  in  proper 
spelling. 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge— there  resided 
One  Harry  Dashington — a  youth  excelling 
In  all  the  learning  commonly  provided 


Humorous  Verse  259 

For  those  who  choose  that  classic  station 
For  finishing  their  education. 
That  is — he  understood  computing 

The  odds  at  any  race  or  match  ; 
Was  a  dead -hand  at  pigeon-shooting  ; 

Could  kick  up  rows — knock  down  the  watch — 
Play  truant  and  the  rake  at  random — 

Drink — tie  cravats — and  drive  a  tandem. 

Remonstrance,  fine  and  rustication, 
So  far  from  working  reformation. 

Seemed  but  to  make  his  lapses  greater, 
Till  he  was  warned  that  next  offence 
Would  have  this  certain  consequence — 

Expulsion  from  his  Alma  Mater. 

One  need  not  be  a  necromancer 

To  guess,  that,  with  so  wild  a  wight, 
The  next  offence  occurr'd  next  night ; 
When  our  Incurable  came  rolling 
Home,  as  the  midnight  chimes  were  tolling. 

And  rang  the  College  Bell.     No  answer. 

The  second  peal  was  vain — the  third 

Made  the  street  echo  its  alarum, 
When  to  his  great  delight  he  heard 
The  sordid  Janitor,  Old  Ben, 
Rousing  and  growling  in  his  den. 
"Who's  there?— I  s'pose  young  Harum-scarum." 
"'Tis  I,  my  worthy  Ben— 'tis  Harry." 
"  Ay,  so  I  thought— and  there  you'll  tarry. 
'Tis  past  the  hour— the  gates  are  closed — 

You  know  my  orders — I  shall  lose 
My  place  if  I  undo  the  door." 
"And  I  "  (young  Hopeful  interposed) 

"Shall  be  expell'd  if  you  refuse. 
So  prythee" — Ben  began  to  snore. 


26o  Humorous  Verse 

"  I'm  wet,"  cried  Harry,  "  to  the  skin. 
Hip  !  hallo  !  Ben — don't  be  a  ninny  ; 
Beneath  the  gate  I've  thrust  a  guinea, 

So  tumble  out  and  let  me  in." 

"  Humph  I  "  growl'd  the  greedy  old  curmudgeon, 

Half  overjoy'd  and  half  in  dudgeon, 

"  Now  you  may  pass  ;  but  make  no  fuss, 

On  tiptoe  walk,  and  hold  your  prate." 
"  Look  on  the  stones,  old  Cerberus," 

Cried  Harry  as  he  pass'd  the  gate, 
"  I've  dropp'd  a  shilling — take  the  light. 
You'll  find  it  just  outside— good  night." 

Behold  the  Porter  in  his  shirt, 

Dripping  with  rain  that  never  stopp'd, 

Groping  and  raking  in  the  dirt. 

And  all  without  success  ;  but  that 

Is  hardly  to  be  wonder'd  at. 

Because  no  shilling  had  been  dropp'd 

So  he  gave  o'er  the  search  at  last, 

Regain'd  the  door,  and  found  it  fast ! 

With  sundry  oaths,  and  growls,  and  groans, 

He  rang  once— twice — and  thrice  ;  and  then, 
Mingled  with  giggling,  heard  the  tones 

Of  Harry,  mimicking  old  Ben — 
"  Who's  there  ?     'Tis  really  a  disgrace 

To  ring  so  loud — I've  lock'd  the  gate, 

I  know  my  duty.     'Tis  too  late, 
You  wouldn't  have  me  lose  my  place?" 

"  Psha  !  Mr.  Dashington  ;  remember 
This  is  the  middle  of  November, 

I'm  stripp'd  ;  'tis  raining  cats  and  dogs" — 
*'  Hush,  hush  ! "  quoth  Hal,  "  I'm  fast  asleep  ; " 
And  then  he  snored  as  loud  and  deep 

As  a  whole  company  of  hogs 


Humorous  Verse  261 

"  But,  hark  ye,  Ben,  I'll  grant  admittance 

At  the  same  rate  I  paid  myself." 
"  Nay,  master,  leave  me  half  the  pittance," 

Replied  the  avaricious  elf. 
"  No — all  or  none — a  full  acquittance  ; 
The  terms,  I  know,  are  somewhat  high  ; 
But  you  have  fix'd  the  price,  not  I — 

I  won't  take  less  ;  I  can't  afiford  it." 
So,  finding  all  his  haggling  vain, 
Ben,  with  an  oath  and  groan  of  pain. 

Drew  out  the  guinea,  and  restored  it. 

"  Surely  you  will  give  me,"  growl'd  the  outwitted 

Porter,  when  again  admitted, 

"  Something,  now  you've  done  your  joking, 

For  all  this  trouble,  time,  and  soaking," 

"  Oh,  surely,  surely,"  Harry  said, 

"  Since,  as  you  urge,  I  broke  your  rest. 
And  you're  half-drown'd  and  quite  undress'd, 
I'll  give  you,"  said  the  generous  fellow — 
Free,  as  most  people  are,  when  mellow — 
"  Yes,  I'll  give  you — leave  to  go  to  bed  !" 


TO  THE  MASTER  OF  TRINITY. 
By  R.  C.  Lehmann. 

Dr.  Butler,  may  I  venture  without  seeming  too 

officious 
To    congratulate    you   warmly  on  a  birthday  so 

auspicious  ? 
The  event  is  surely  worthy  that  I  too  should  raise 

my  voice  at  it. 
And  proclaim  as  best  I  may  that  like  all  others  I 

rejoice  at  it. 


262  Humorous  Verse 

I  am  late — I   own  it  humbly — but  from   censure 

crave  immunity ; 
I   should  have  wished  you  joy  before,  but  lacked 

the  opportunity. 
And  you  too,  fair  young  mistress  of  our  ancient 

Lodge  at  Trinity, 
Though  to  the  usual  natal  ode  my  rhymes  have 

small  afifinity, 
Though  good  wishes  from  an  unknown  friend  may 

savour  of  temerity, 
Yet  accept  both  them  and  my  excuse  for  wishing 

them — sincerity. 
And  the  son  !  with  two  such  parents  this  small 

member  of  our  college 
Must  be,    unlike   the    ruck  of  us,    a  paragon   of 

knowledge ; 
Armed  cap-k-pie  with  wisdom  like  the  goddess  in 

the  stories  ; 
A  human  sort  of  letters  which  we  t&rm.  humaniores ; 
A  kind  of  tiny  scholiast  who'll  startle  his  relations 
With   his    luminous   suggestions   and   his    subtle 

emendations  ; 
A  [lexicon  in  arms,  with  all  the  syntax  grafted  in 

on  him  ; 
A   Gradus  ad    Parnassum,    full    of    epithet    and 

synonym  ; 
A  Corpus  Poetarum,  such  as  classics  love  to  edit,  he 
Will  furnish,  let  me   hope,    a   bright  example  of 

heredity. 
Though   no  doubt  he'll  be  a  stoic  or  a  modern 

Pocahontas 
(This  allusion  is  ti  /SapySapov)  when  cutting   his 

oSdvras  \ 
Yet  if  he   when    his    teething   time    approaches 

should  to  cry  elect, 
He  will  cry,  I  am  persuaded,  in  the  purest  Attic 

dialect. 


Humorous  Verse  263 

If  a  keen  desire  for  nourishment  his  baby  face 

should  mottle, 
He  will  think  "nunc  est  bibendum  " — not,  like 

others,  "  pass  the  bottle." 
Before     he    doffs     his    long  clothes,    and    while 

scarcely  fit  to  wean,  he 
Will    be    game    to    tackle     Schliemann    on    the 

treasures  of  Mycenje  ; 
And   although    his  conversation  must  be  chiefly 

esoteric, 
Yet  I  warrant,  if  the  truth  were  known,  he  often 

talks  Homeric  ; 
Then,  whilst  others  merely  babble,  he  will  whet 

his  infant  senses  [tenses. 

On  a  new  and  striking  theory  of  Greek  and  Latin 
He'll  eschew  his  india-rubber  ring,  vote  picture- 
books  immoral,  [coral. 
And  prefer  an  hour  with  Tacitus  to  rattle  or  to 
He     will     subjugate     hexameters     and    conquer 

elegiacs,  [Dyaks  ; 

As  easily  as  Rajah  Brooke  made  mincemeat  of  the 
And  in  struggles  with  alcaics  and  iambics,  and  the 

rest  of  it, 
I  will  lay  a  thousand  drachmae  Master  Butler  gets 

the  best  of  it. 
And  whatever  Dr.  Jebb  may  think,  he'll  look  a 

small  potato 
Should  he  dare  to  take  this  infant  on  in  .(Eschylus 

or  Plato. 
Then  (forgive  me  if  I  mention  but  a  few  amongst 

his  many  tricks) 
He   will    call   his   father    "  genitor,"   his    mother 

"  alma  genetrix," 
At  an  age   when  other  babies  stutter  "Pa"   or 

"Ma "or  "Gra'ma," 
He  will  solve — oh,  joy  ! — the  mystery  and  sense  of 

the  digamma ; 


264  Httmofous  Verse 

He'll  discover  by  an  instinct,  though  the  point  is 

somewhat  knotty, 
That  in  certain  cases  Trpos  is  used,  in  other  cases 

TTOTt. 

He  will  know  the  proper  case  for  every  little  pre- 
position, 
Will    correctly    state    a    certainty   or   hint    at    a 

condition. 
Latin  prose  will  be  a  game  to  him ;  at  two  he'll 

take  a  prize  in  it. 
With   no   end   of    Ciceronian    turns   and   lots    of 

quippe  qui-s  in  it. 
With  the  ablatives  so  absolute  they  awe  you  into 

silence. 
And  such  indirect  narrations  that  they  wind  away 

a  mile  hence  ; 
With  the  sentences  so  polished  that  they  shine  like 

housemaid's  faces, 
All  the  words  both  big  and  little  fixed  like  features 

in  their  places  ; 
With  the  moods  all  strictly  accurate,  the  tenses  in 

their  sequences. 
And    a    taste    so    truly  classical   it    shudders    at 

infrequencies  ; 
With  some  cunning  bits  of  tam-s  and  quam-s,  and 

all  the  little  wily  sets 
Of  donees  and  of  quainvis-es ,  of  duni-s  and  quins 

and  scilicets. 
All  the  imperfections  rubbed  away,  the  roughness 

nicely  levelled  off. 
Like  a  sheet  of  burnished  copper  with  the  edges 

neatly  bevelled  off. 
In  short,  go  search  all  Europe  through,  you'll  find 

that  in  Latinity 
Not  a  soul  can  hold  a  candle  to  our  Master's  son 

in  Trinity. 


Humorous  Verse  265 

Then  he'll  write  Greek  plays  by  dozens— not  such 

models  of  insipid  ease 
(Robert    Browning,    grant    me     pardon)    as    the 

dramas  of  Euripides  ; 
But  lines  that  roll  like  thunder,  ^schylean  and 

Titanic, 
With    a    saving    touch     of     Sophocles,    a    dash 

Aristophanic. 
Not  an  accent  will  be  wanting,  no  false  quantity 

will  kill  a  line  ; 
There'll  be  no  superfluous  particles  popped  in  like 

yf.  to  fill  a  line. 
Then  if  asked  to  choose  a  story-book  this  prodigy 

will  nod  at  us. 
And    demand    the    Polyhymnia   or   the    Clio    of 

Herodotus. 
At    three    he'll    take    a    tripos    class    in    Aryan 

mythology, 
And    at    four    confute    all    Germany    in    RomajB 

archaeology  ; 
And  if  his  Teuton   rivals  print   huge  quartos  to 

suppress  him,  oh  ! 
I'll    back    this    cyclopaedic    child,    this    English 

duodecimo. 
And,  bless  me  !   how  his  cheeks  will  glow  with 

infantine  elation, 
Should  he  catch  his  parents  tripping  in  a  classical 

quotation  ! 
He'll  be,  in  fact,  before  he's  done  with  pap-boat 

and  with  ladle, 
The     critic's     last     variety  —  the    critic     in    the 

cradle. 
So  a  health  to  you,  good  Master  ;  may  the  day 

that  brought  this  boy  to  you 
Be    through     the    years    a    constant     source     of 

happiness  and  joy  to  you. 


266  Humoroas  Verse 

May  he  have  his  father's  eloquence,  be  charming 

as  his  mother, 
And  when  he  grows  to  wield  a  bat  play  cricket 

like  his  brother. 
I  looks  towards  you,  Dr.  B.,  and  Mrs.  Butler  too, 

sir ; 
The  infant  prodigy  as  well, — let's  drink  it  in  a 

"  brew,"  sir. 
Take  of  champagne  a  magnum,  drop  some  Borage 

{that' s  the  stuff)  in  it. 
With  a  dash  of  Cognac,  lots  of  ice,  and  seltzer 

quantum,  suff.,  in  it  ; 
And    we'll    drain    this    simple   mixture   ("simple 

mixture"  sounds  Hibernian), 
And  in  honour  of  the  classic  babe  we'll  fancy  it's 

Falernian. 


ELEGY 

ON   THE    DEATH    OF   A   MAD   DOG. 

By  Oliver  Goldsmith. 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song, 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short — 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  man. 
Of  whom  the  world  might  say. 

That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran — 
Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had, 
To  comfort  friends  and  foes  ; 

The  naked  every  day  he  clad — • 
When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 


Humorous  Verse  267 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found, 

As  many  dogs  there  be, 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound. 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 

This  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends  ; 

But  when  a  pique  began, 
The  dog,  to  gain  some  private  ends, 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighbouring  streets 
The  wondering  neighbours  ran. 

And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits, 
To  bite  so  good  a  man. 

The  wound  it  seem'd  both  sore  and  sad, 

To  every  Christian  eye  ; 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 
That  show'd  the  rogues  they  lied 

The  man  recover'd  of  the  bite — 
The  dog  it  was  that  died. 

THE   DIVERTING    HISTORY 

OF 

JOHN  GILPIN. 
By  William  Cowper. 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen 

Of  credit  and  renown, 
A  train-band  captain  eke  was  he 

Of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear, 

"  Though  wedded  we  have  been 
These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we 

No  holiday  have  seen. 


2  68  Humorous  Verse 

"  To-morrow  is  our  wedding-day, 

And  we  will  then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton, 

All  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 

"  My  sister,  and  my  sister's  child, 

Myself,  and  children  three. 
Will  fill  the  chaise  ;  so  you  must  ride 

On  horseback  after  we." 

He  soon  replied,  "  I  do  admire 

Of  womankind  but  one. 
And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dear, 

Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 

"  I  am  a  linen-draper  bold. 

As  all  the  world  doth  know, 
And  my  good  friend  the  calender 

Will  lend  his  horse  to  go." 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin,  "  That's  well  said  ; 

And  for  that  wine  is  dear. 
We  will  be  furnished  with  our  own, 

Which  is  both  bright  and  clear." 

John  Gilpin  kissed  his  loving  wife; 

O'erjoyed  was  he  to  find. 
That  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent. 

She  had  a  frugal  mind. 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought, 

But  yet  was  not  allowed 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all 

Should  say  that  she  was  proud. 

So  three  doors  ofi"  the  chaise  was  stayed, 

Where  they  did  all  get  in  ; 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog 

To  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 


Humorous  Verse  269 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels, 

Were  never  folk  so  glad, 
The  stones  did  rattle  underneath, 

As  if  Cheaps  ide  were  mad. 

John  Gilpin  at  his  horse's  side 

Seized  fast  the  flowing  mane, 
And  up  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride. 

But  soon  came  down  again  ; 

For  saddle-tree  scarce  reached  had  he 

His  journey  to  begin, 
When,  turning  round  his  head,  he  saw 

Three  customers  come  in. 

So  down  he  came  ;  for  loss  of  time, 

Although  it  grieved  him  sore, 
Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew. 

Would  trouble  him  much  more. 

'Twas  long  before  the  customers 

Were  suited  to  their  mind. 
When  Betty  screaming  came  downstairs, 

"The  wine  is  left  behind!" 

' '  Good  lack !  "  quoth  he  — "  yet  bring  it  me, 

My  leathern  belt  likewise, 
In  which  I  bear  my  trusty  sword. 

When  I  do  exercise." 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin  (careful  soul !) 

Had  two  stone  bottles  found. 
To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved, 

And  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear. 
Through  which  the  belt  he  drew, 

And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side. 
To  make  his  balance  true. 


270  Humorous  Vetse 

Then  over  all  that  he  might  be 

Equipped  from  top  to  toe, 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brushed  andjneat, 

He  manfully  did  throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again 

Upon  his  nimble  steed, 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones, 

With  caution  and  good  heed. 

But  finding  soon  a  smoother  road 

Beneath  his  well-shod  feet, 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot. 

Which  galled  him  in  his  seat. 

So,  "  Fair  and  softly,"  John  he  cried, 

But  John  he  cried  in  vain  ; 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon, 

In  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must 

Who  cannot  sit  upright. 
He  grasped  the  mane  with  both  his  hands, 

And  eke  with  all  his  might. 

His  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before. 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got 

Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  nought ; 

Away  went  hat  and  wig  : 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  set  out, 

Of  running  such  a  rig. 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly, 

Like  streamer  long  and  gay, 
Till,  loop  and  button  failing  both, 

At  last  it  flew  away. 


Humoroas  Verse  271 

Then  might  all  people  well  discern 

T  he  bottles  he  had  slung  ; 
A  bottle  swinging  at  each  side, 

As  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  screamed. 

Up  flew  the  windows  all ; 
And  every  soul  cried  out,  "  Well  done  ! '' 

As  loud  as  he  could  bawl. 

Away  went  Gilpin— who  but  he  ? 

His  fame  soon  spread  around  ; 
"  He  carries  weight !  "     "  He  rides  a  race  ! " 

"  'Tis  for  a  thousand  pound  ! " 

And  still,  as  fast  as  he  drew  near, 

'Twas  wonderful  to  view. 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike-men 

Their  gates  wide  open  threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down 

His  reeking  head  full  low. 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back 

Were  shattered  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road. 

Most  piteous  to  be  seen. 
Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke 

As  they  had  basted  been. 

But  still  he  seemed  to  carry  weight, 

With  leathern  girdle  braced  ; 
For  all  might  see  the  bottle-necks 

Still  dangling  at  his  waist. 

Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 

These  gambols  he  did  play. 
Until  he  came  unto  the  Wash 

Of  Edmonton  so  gay  ; 


272  Humorous  Verse 

And  there  he  threw  the  Wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop, 

Or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife 

From  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

"  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  ! — Here's  the  house  I " 

They  all  at  once  did  cry  ; 
"  The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired  ; " 
Said  Gilpin — "  So  am  I  !" 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 

Inclined  to  tarry  there  ! 
For  why  ? — his  owner  had  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew, 

Shot  by  an  archer  strong ; 
So  did  he  fly — which  brings  me  to 

The  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  out  of  breath. 

And  sore  against  his  will 
Till  at  his  friend  the  calender's 

His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  calender,  amazed  to  see 

His  neighbour  in  such  trim, 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate. 

And  thus  accosted  him  : 

"  What  news  ?  what  news  ?  your  tidings  tell ; 

Tell  me  you  must  and  shall — 
Say  why  bareheaded  you  are  come, 

Or  why  you  come  at  all  ? " 


Humorous  Verse  273 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit, 

And  loved  a  timely  joke  ; 
And  thus  unto  the  calender 

In  merry  guise  he  spoke  : 

"  I  came  because  your  horse  would  come, 

And,  if  I  w€ll  forbode, 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here,— 

They  are  upon  the  road." 

The  calender,  right  glad  to  find 

His  friend  in  merry  pin, 
Returned  him  not  a  single  word. 

But  to  the  house  went  in  ; 

Whence  straight  he  came  with  hat  and  wig  ; 

A  wig  that  flowed  behind, 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear, 

Each  comely  in  its  kind. 

He  held  them  up,  and  in  his  turn 

Thus  showed  his  ready  wit, 
"  My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours. 

They  therefore  needs  must  fit. 

"  But  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away 

That  hangs  upon  your  face  ; 
And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 

Be  in  a  hungry  case." 

Said  John,  "  It  is  my  wedding-day. 

And  all  the  world  would  stare, 
If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton, 

And  I  should  dine  at  Ware." 

So  turning  to  his  horse,  he  said, 

"  I  am  in  haste  to  dme  ; 
Twas  for  your  pleasure  you  came  here, 

You  shall  go  back  for  mine." 

T 


2  74  Humorous  Verse 

Ah,  luckless  speech,  and  bootless  boast  ! 

For  which  he  paid  full  dear  ; 
For,  while  he  spake,  a  braying  ass 

Did  sing  most  loud  and  clear; 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar. 
And  galloped  off  with  all  his  might. 

As  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig  : 
He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first ; 

For  why  ?—  they  were  too  big. 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 

Her  husband  posting  down 
Into  the  country  far  away, 

She  pulled  out  half-a-crown  ; 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said 

That  drove  them  to  the  Bell, 
"  This  shall  be  yours,  when  you  bring  back 

My  husband  safe  and  well." 

The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet 

John  coming  back  amain  : 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop, 

By  catching  at  his  rein  ; 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant, 
And  gladly  would  have  done, 

The  frighted  steed  he  frighted  more. 
And  made  him  faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  postboy  at  his  heels, 
The  postboy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss 

The  lumbering  of  the  wheels. 


Humorous  Verse  275 

Six  gentleman  upon  the  road, 

Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  postboy  scampering  in  the  rear, 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry  : 

"  Stop  thief !  stop  thief ! — a  highwayman  !  " 

Not  one  of  them  was  mute  ; 
And  all  and  each  that  passed  that  way 

Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 

Flew  open  in  short  space  ; 
The  toll  men  thinking,  as  before, 

That  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too, 

For  he  got  first  to  town  ; 
Nor  stopped  till  where  he  had  got  up 

He  did  again  get  down. 

Now  let  us  sing,  Long  live  the  king  ! 

And  Gilpin,  long  live  he  ! 
And  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad 

May  I  be  there  to  see  ! 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FAVOURITE  CAT. 

Drowned  in  a  Tub  of  Goldfishes. 

By  Thomas  Gray. 

'TwAS  on  a  lofty  vase's  side. 
Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 

The  azure  flowers  that  blow, 
Demurest  of  the  tabby  kind, 
The  pensive  Selima,  reclined, 

Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared ; 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard. 
The  velvet  ot  her  paws. 


276  Humorous  Verse 

Her  coat  that  with  the  tortoise  vies. 

Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes, 

She  saw,  and  purr'd  applause. 

Still  had  she  gazed,  but,  'midst  the  tide. 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide. 

The  Genii  of  the  stream  : 
Their  scaly  armour's  Tyrian  hue. 
Through  richest  purple,  to  the  view 

Betray'd  a  golden  gleam. 

The  hapless  nymph  with  wonder  saw  : 
A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw. 

With  many  an  ardent  wish, 
She  stretch'd  in  vain  to  reach  the  prize  : 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise  ? 

What  Cat's  averse  to  fish  ? 

Presumptuous  maid  I  with  looks  intent, 
Again  she  stretch'd,  again  she  bent. 

Nor  knew  the  gulf  between 
(Malignant  Fate  sat  by  and  smiled) : 
The  slippery  verge  her  feet  beguiled  ; 

She  tumbled  headlong  in. 

Eight  times  emerging  from  the  flood, 
She  mew'd  to  every  watery  god 

Some  speedy  aid  to  send. 
No  Dolphin  came,  no  Nereid  stirr'd. 
Nor  cruel  Tom  or  Susan  heard : 

A  fav'rite  has  no  friend  ! 

From  hence,  ye  Beauties  !  undeceived. 
Know  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved. 

And  be  with  caution  bold  : 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wandering  eyes 
And  heedless  hearts  is  lawful  prize, 

Nor  all,  that  glisters,  gold. 


Humorous  Verse  277 

THE  RETIRED  CAT. 
By  William  Cowper. 

A  poet's  cat,  sedate  and  grave 
As  poet  well  could  wish  to  have, 
Was  much  addicted  to  inquire 
Fornooks  to  which  she  might  retire. 
And  where,  secure  as  mouse  in  chink, 
She  might  repose,  or  sit  and  think. 
I  know  not  where  she  caught  the  trick, — 
Nature  perhaps  herself  had  cast  her 
In  such  a  mould  philosophique, 
Or  else  she  learned  it  of  her  master. 
Sometimes  ascending,  debonair, 
An  apple-tree,  or  lofty  pear, 
Lodged  with  convenience  in  the  fork, 
She  watched  the  gardener  at  his  work  ; 
Sometimes  her  ease  and  solace  sought 
In  an  old  empty  watering-pot ; 
There,  wanting  nothing  save  a  fan 
To  seem  some  nymph  in  her  sedan, 
Apparelled  in  exactest  sort, 
And  ready  to  be  borne  to  Court. 

But  love  of  change,  it  seems,  has  place 
Not  only  in  our  wiser  race  ; 
Cats  also  feel,  as  well  as  we, 
That  passion's  force,  and  so  did  she. 
Her  climbing,  she  began  to  find, 
Exposed  her  too  much  to  the  wind, 
And  the  old  utensil  of  tin 
Was  cold  and  comfortless  within  : 
She  therefore  wished  instead  of  those 
Some  place  of  more  serene  repose, 
Where  neither  cold  might  come,  nor  air 
Too  rudely  wanton  with  her  hair, 
And  sought  it  in  the  likeliest  mode 
Within  her  master's  snug  abode. 


278  Homofows  Verse 

A  drawer,  it  chanced,  at  bottom  lined 
With  Hnen  of  the  softest  kind. 
With  such  as  merchants  introduce 
From  India,  for  the  ladies'  use — 
A  drawer  impending  o'er  the  rest, 
Half  open  in  the  topmost  chest, 
Of  depth  enough,  and  none  to  spare. 
Invited  her  to  slumber  there  ; 
Puss  with  delight  beyond  expression 
Surveyed  the  scene,  and  took  possession. 
Recumbent  at  her  ease  ere  long. 
And  lulled  by  her  old  humdrum  song. 
She  left  the  cares  of  life  behind, 
And  slept  as  she  would  sleep  her  last, 
When  in  came,  housewifely  inclined, 
The  chambermaid,  and  shut  it  fast. 
By  no  malignity  impelled, 
But  all  unconscious  whom  it  held. 
Awakened  by  the  shock,  cried  Puss, 

"  Was  ever  cat  attended  thus  ! 

"  The  open  drawer  was  left,  I  see, 

"  Merely  to  prove  a  nest  for  me. 

"  For  soon  as  I  was  well  composed, 

"  Then  came  the  maid,  and  it  was  closed. 

"  How    smooth    these    'kerchiefs,    and    how 
sweet ! 

"  Oh,  what  a  delicate  retreat  ! 

"  I  will  resign  myself  to  rest 

"  Till  Sol,  declining  in  the  west, 

"  Shall  call  to  supper,  when,  no  doubt, 

"  Susan  will  come  and  let  me  out." 

The  evening  came,  the  sun  descended, 

And  puss  remained  still  unattended. 

The  night  rolled  tardily  away, 

(With  her  indeed  'twas  never  day,) 

The  sprightly  morn  her  course  renewed, 

The  evening  gray  again  ensued. 


Humorous  Verse  279 

And  puss  came  into  mind  no  more 

Than  if  entombed  the  day  before. 

With   hunger    pinched,    and    pinched    for 

room, 
She  now  presaged  approaching  doom, 
Nor  slept  a  single  wink,  or  purred, 
Conscious  of  jeopardy  incurred. 

That  night  by  chance,  the  poet  watching, 
Heard  an  inexplicable  scratching  ; 
His  noble  heart  went  pit-a-pat. 
And  to  himself  he  said—"  What's  that  ?" 
He  drew  the  curtain  at  his  side, 
And  forth  he  peeped,  but  nothing  spied ; 
Yet,  by  his  ear  directed  guessed 
Something  imprisoned  in  the  chest. 
And,  doubtful  what,  with  prudent  care 
Resolved  it  should  continue  there. 
At  length  a  voice  which  well  he  knew, 
A  long  and  melancholy  mew. 
Saluting  his  poetic  ears, 
Consoled  him,  and  dispelled  his  fears  ; 
He  left  his  bed,  he  trod  the  floor. 
He  'gan  in  haste  the  drawers  explore, 
The  lowest  first,  and  without  stop 
The  rest  in  order  to  the  top  ; 
For  'tis  a  truth  well  known  to  most, 
Thit  whatsoever  thing  is  lost, 
We  seek  it,  ere  it  come  to  light. 
In  every  cranny  but  the  right. 
Forth  skipped  the  cat,  not  now  replete 
As  erst  with  airy  self-conceit. 
Nor  in  her  own  fond  apprehension 
A  theme  for  all  the  world's  attention. 
But  modest,  sober,  cured  of  all 
Her  notions  hyperbolical. 
And  wishing  for  a  place  of  rest 
Anything  rather  than  a  chest. 


28o  Humorous  Verse 

Then  stepped  the  poet  into  bed, 
With  this  reflection  in  his  head  : 


MORAL. 

Beware  of  too  sublime  a  sense 
Of  your  own  worth  and  consequence. 
The  man  who  dreams  himself  so  great, 
And  his  importance  of  such  weight. 
That  all  around  in  all  that's  done 
Must  move  and  act  for  him  alone. 
Will  learn  in  school  of  tribulation 
The  folly  of  his  expectation. 


THE  DEAN'S  STORY. 

By  R.  Carr  Bqsanquet. 

"  That  cat,  sir,  black  and  yellow 
And  blind  and  deaf  and  lame, 
Is  on  the  books  as  Fellow, 

And  ranks  in  all  but  name 
As  Master,"  said  the  Junior  Dean, 
And  told  this  tale  to  me  between 
Our  efforts  on  the  bowling-green, 
As  I  repeat  the  same. 

"  There  entered  at  this  College 

Some  dozen  years  ago, 
A  man  that  hated  knowledge 

And  held  that  books  were  low. 
Your  thoroughbred  patrician  weed 
Can  run  uncommon  quick  to  seed- 
I  judge  by  Chapels— to  proceed. 

He  lived  on  staircase  O. 


Humorous  Verse  281 

"  He  never  stinted  tenners 

His  tip  was  seldom  less, 
And  when  he  ran  at  Tenner's 

He  ran  in  evening  dress  : 
Became  what  you  would  call  a  Blood, 
One  part  whisky,  three  parts  mud, 
The  kind  that  chews  the  devil's  cud, 

And  chews  it  to  excess. 

"  His  sinful  soul  was  spotted 

As  any  groom's  cravat. 
And  grew  so  far  besotted 

With  self-indulgence  that, 
Impelled  one  night  by  freak  of  fate 
Or  liquors  that  intoxicate, 
At  any  rate  returning  late 
In  passing  through  the  College  gate 

He  kicked  the  Senior  Cat. 

"  She  rose  in  silent  sorrow, 

Inscrutable,  obese, 
Resolved  that  on  the  morrow 

Indignities  should  cease. 
Her  couriers,  the  Chapel  bats. 
Proclaimed  the  tryst  to  fens  and  flats. 
And  midnight  found  three  hundred  cats 
Encamped  on  Parker's  Piece. 

"  That  night,  about  a  quarter 

To  one  or  something  more, 
Men  say  the  college  porter 

Sat  up  in  bed  and  swore. 
He  cursed  the  bell  that  broke  his  sleep 
In  tones  to  make  a  Bursar  weep, 
In  metaphors  as  broad  as  deep, 

Then  loth  unbarred  the  door. 


282  Humorous  Verse 

"  It  was  no  common  cabby 

That  pealed  the  midnight  bell  ; 
It  was  a  grizzled  tabby, 

A  cat  he  knew  right  well  ; 
And  lo  !  behind  her  through  the  night 
A  long  procession  loomed  in  sight, 
Cats  black  and  yellow,  dun  and  white, 
Blue-grey  and  tortoise-shell. 

"  Their  pace  was  soft  and  solemn. 

Their  claws  were  bared  to  wound, 
In  dim  fantastic  column 

A  dreadful  dirge  they  crooned. 
He  counted  near  three  hundred  pass 
In  single  file  across  the  grass. 
He  heard  the  crash  of  breaking  glass, 
That  heard,  and  hearing  swooned. 

"  Against  his  shoulder  creaking 

The  gate  swung  to  and  fro, 
And  round  the  turrets  shrieking 
Came  gusts  of  wind  and  snow. 
Yet  men  that  are  not  wont  to  dream 
Declare  they  heard  a  human  scream 
That  unmistakeably  did  seem 
To  come  from  staircase  O. 

"  A  help  about  the  dawning. 

Unlocked  the  outer  door; 
She  found  the  window  yawning 

And  snow  across  the  floor. 
An  empty  bed,  no  blood,  no  tracks  : 
No  corpse  in  Cam  or  on  the  Backs  : 
For  whom  the  wrath  of  Pasht  attacks 

Is  seen  on  earth  no  more. 
The  only  clue  that  fact  supplied 
I  personally  verified — 
The  cats  in  all  the  countryside 

Were  sleeker  than  before. 


Humorous  Verse  283 

"  No  Proctor,  Dean  or  Master 

Has  more  despotic  right 
Of  dealing  out  disaster 

And  satisfying  spite. 
The  most  unbending  democrat 
Does  homage  to  the  Senior  Cat, 
And — verbuni  sapienti  sat — 
It's  just  as  well  to  lift  your  hat 

In  passing,  so — Good-night." 


LINES  ON  THE   DEATH   OF  A  COLLEGE 
CAT. 

By  Sir  Frederick  Pollock. 

The  Junior  Fellow's  vows  were  said; 
Among  his  co-mates  and  their  Head 

His  place  was  fairly  set. 
Of  welcome  from  friends  old  and  new 
Full  dues  he  had,  and  more  than  due  ; 

What  could  be  lacking  yet  ? 

One  said,  "  The  Senior  Fellow's  vote  1 " 
The  Senior  Fellow,  black  of  coat. 

Save  where  his  front  was  white, 
Arose  and  sniffed  the  stranger's  shoes 
With  critic  nose,  as  ancients  use 

To  judge  mankind  aright. 

I — for  'twas  I  who  tell  the  tale — 
Conscious  of  fortune's  trembling  scale, 

Awaited  the  decree ; 
But  Tom  had  judged :  "  He  loves  our  race," 
And,  as  to  his  ancestral  place, 

He  leapt  upon  my  knee. 


384  Homofous  Verse 

Thenceforth  in  common-room  and  hall 
A  verus  socius  known  to  all 

I  came  and  went  and  sat, 
Far  from  cross  fate's  or  envy's  reach  ; 
For  none  a  title  could  impeach 

Accepted  by  the  cat. 

While  statutes  changed,  and  freshmen  came, 
His  gait,  his  wisdom  were  the  same. 

His  age  no  more  than  mellow ; 
Yet  nothing  mortal  may  defy 
The  march  of  Anno  Domini, 

Not  e'en  the  Senior  Fellow. 

Beneath  our  linden  shade  he  lies  ; 
Mere  eld  hath  softly  closed  his  eyes 

With  late  and  honoured  end. 
He  seems,  while  catless  we  confer, 
To  join  with  faint  Elysian  purr, 

A  tutelary  friend. 


THE     CRYSTAL     PALACE. 
By  W.  M.  Thackeray. 

With  ganial  foire 

Thransfuse  me  loyre, 
Ye  sacred  nymphs  of  Pindus, 

The  whoile  I  sing 

That  wondthrous  thing. 
The  Palace  made  o'  windows  ! 

Say,  Paxton,  truth, 

Thou  wondthrous  youth. 
What  sthroke  of  art  celistial. 

What  power  was  lint 

You  to  invint 
This  combineetion  cristial. 


Homofoos  Verse  285 

O  would  before 

That  Thomas  Moore, 
Likewoise  the  late  Lord  Boyron, 

Thim  aigles  sthrong 

Of  godlike  song, 
Cast  oi  on  that  cast  oiron  ! 

And  saw  thim  walls. 

And  glittering  halls, 
Thim  rising  slendther  columns, 

Which  I,  poor  pote. 

Could  not  denote, 
No,  not  in  twinty  vollums. 

My  Muse's  words 

Is  like  the  bird's 
That  roosts  beneath  the  panes  there  ; 

Her  wings  she  spoils 

'Gainst  them  bright  toiles. 
And  cracks  her  silly  brains  there. 

This  Palace  tall, 

This  Cristial  Hall, 
Which  Imperors  might  covet, 

Stands  in  High  Park 

Like  Noah's  Ark, 
A  rainbow  bint  above  it. 

The  towers  and  fanes. 

In  other  scaynes. 
The  fame  of  this  will  undo, 

Saint  Paul's  big  doom. 

Saint  Payther's,  Room, 
And  Dublin's  proud  Rotundo. 

'Tis  here  that  roams, 

As  well  becomes 
Her  dignitee  and  stations, 

Victoria  Great, 

And  houlds  in  state 
The  Congress  of  the  Nations. 


286  Humorous  Verse 

Her  subjects  pours 

From  distant  shores, 
Her  Injians  and  Canajians, 

And  also  we, 

Her  kingdoms  three, 
Attind  with  our  allagiance. 

Here  come  likewise 

Her  bould  allies, 
Both  Asian  and  Europian  ; 

From  East  and  West 

They  send  their  best 
To  fill  her  Coornucopean. 

I  seen  (thank  Grace  !) 

This  wondthrous  place 
(His  Noble  Honour  Misther 

H.  Cole  it  was 

That  gave  the  pass. 
And  let  me  see  what  is  there). 

With  conscious  proide 

I  stud  insoide 
And  look'd  the  World's  Great  Fair  in, 

Until  me  sight 

Was  dazzled  quite, 
And  couldn't  see  for  staring. 

There's  holy  saints 

And  window  paints, 
By  maydiayval  Pugin ; 

Alhamborough  Jones 

Did  paint  the  tones. 
Of  yellow  and  gambouge  in. 

There's  fountains  there 

And  crosses  fair  ; 
There's  water-gods  with  urrns  ; 

There's  organs  three, 

To  play,  d'ye  see, 
*'  God  save  the  Queen,"  by  turrns. 


Homofous  Vcfse  287 

There's  statues  bright 

Of  marble  white, 
Of  silver,  and  of  copper; 

And  some  in  zinc, 

And  some,  I  think, 
That  isn't  over  proper. 

There's  staym  injynes, 

That  stands  in  lines, 
Enormous  and  amazing. 

That  squeal  and  snort 

Like  whales  in  sport. 
Or  elephants  a-grazing. 

There's  carts  and  gigs, 

And  pins  for  pigs. 
There's  dibblers  and  there's  harrows, 

And  ploughs  like  toys 

For  little  boys, 
And  illigant  wheelbarrows. 

For  thim  genteels 

Who  ride  on  wheels. 
There's  plenty  to  indulge  'em  : 

There's  droskys  snug 

From  Paytersbug, 
And  vayhycles  from  Bulgium. 

There's  cabs  on  stands 

And  shandthrydanns ; 
There's  wagons  from  New  York  here  ; 

There's  Lapland  sleighs 

Have  cross'd  the  seas, 
And  jaunting  cyars  from  Cork  here. 

Amazed  I  pass 

From  glass  to  glass, 
Deloighted  I  survey  'em  ; 

Fresh  wondthers  grows 

Before  me  nose 
In  this  sublime  Musayum! 


288  Humorous  Verse 

Look,  here's  a  fan 

From  far  Japan, 
A  sabre  from  Damasco  : 

There's  shawls  ye  get 

From  far  Thibet, 
And  cotton  prints  from  Glasgow, 

There's  German  flutes, 

Marocky  boots, 
And  Naples  macaronies  ; 

Bohaymia 

Has  sent  Behay ; 
Polonia  her  polonies. 

There's  granite  flints 

That's  quite  imminse, 
There's  sacks  of  coals  and  fuels. 

There's  swords  and  guns, 

And  soap  in  tuns. 
And  gingerbread  and  jewels. 

There's  taypots  there. 

And  cannons  rare ; 
There's  coffins  fill'd  with  roses  ; 

There's  canvas  tints. 

Teeth  insthrumints, 
And  shuits  of  clothes  by  Moses. 

There's  lashins  more 

Of  things  in  store, 
But  thim  I  don't  remimber  ; 

Nor  could  disclose 

Did  I  compose 
From  May  time  to  Novimber  ! 

Ah,  Judy  thru ! 

With  eyes  so  blue, 
That  you  were  here  to  view 

And  could  I  screw 

But  tu  pound  tu, 
Tis  I  would  thrait  you  to  it ! 


Ht«noro«s  Verse  289 

So  let  us  raise 

Victoria's  praise, 
And  Albert's  proud  condition 

That  takes  his  ayse 

As  he  surveys 
This  Cristial  Exhibition 


THE     ENGLISHMAN. 
By  Thomas  Heywood. 

The  Spaniard  loves  his  ancient  slop, 

The  Lombard  his  Ventian, 
And  some  like  breechless  women  go — 

The  Russ,  Turk,  Jew,  and  Grecian. 
The  thrifty  Frenchman  wears  small  waist, 

The  Dutch  his  belly  boasteth  ; 
The  Englishmen  is  for  them  all. 

And  for  each  fashion  coasteth. 

The  Turk  in  linen  wraps  his  head. 

The  Persian  his  in  lawn,  too ; 
The  Russ  with  sables  furs  his  cap, 

And  change  will  not  be  drawn  to ; 
The  Spaniard's  constant  to  his  block. 

The  French  inconstant  ever  ; 
But  of  all  felts  that  can  be  felt, 

Give  me  your  English  beaver. 

The  German  loves  his  cony-wool, 

The  Irishman  his  shag,  too  ; 
The  Welsh  his  monmouth  loves  to  wear 

And  of  the  same  will  brag,  too. 
Some  love  the  rough  and  some  the  smooth, 

Some  great  and  others  small  things  ; 
But,  oh  !  your  lecherous  Englishman, 

He  loves  to  deal  in  all  things. 

u 


29°  Htjinofous  Verse 

The  Russ  drinks  quass  ;  Dutch,  Lubeck  beer, 

And  that  is  strong  and  mighty. 
The  Briton,  he  metheglin  quaffs, 

The  Irish,  aquavitaj ; 
The  French  afifect  the  Orleans  grape, 

The  Spaniard  tastes  his  sherry  ; 
The  Enghsh  none  of  these  can  scape, 

But  he  with  all  makes  merry. 

The  Italian  in  her  high  chapine, 

Scotch  lass,  and  lovely  frau,  too, 
The  Spanish  donna,  French  madame. 

He  will  not  fear  to  go  to  ; 
Nothing  so  full  of  hazard  dread, 

Nought  lives  above  the  centre. 
No  fashion,  health,  no  wine,  nor  wench, 

On  which  he  dare  not  venture. 


ST.    GEORGE    FOR   ENGLAND. 
By  J.  Grubbe. 

The  story  of  King  Arthur  old 

Is  very  memorable, 
The  number  of  his  valiant  knights, 

And  roundness  of  his  table  : 
The  knights  around  his  table  in 

A  circle  sate,  d'ye  see  : 
And  altogether  made  up  one 

Large  hoop  of  chivalry. 
He  had  a  sword,  both  broad  and  sharp, 

Y-cleped  Caliburn, 
Would  cut  a  flint  more  easily 

Than  pen-knife  cuts  a  corn  ; 


Humorous  Verse  291 

As  case-knife  does  a  capon  carve, 

So  would  it  carve  a  rock, 
And  split  a  man  at  single  slash, 

From  noddle  down  to  nock. 
As  Roman  Augui-'s  steel  of  yore 

Dissected  Tarquin's  riddle, 
So  this  would  cut  both  conjurer 

And  whetstone  thro'  the  middle. 
He  was  the  cream  of  Brecknock, 

And  flower  of  all  the  Welsh  : 
But  George  he  did  the  dragon  fell, 

And  gave  him  a  plaguey  squelsh. 
St.  George  he  was  for  England ;  St.  Dermis  was 
for  France  ; 
Sing,  Honi  soil  qui  mal  y  pense. 


Pendragon,  like  his  father  Jove, 

Was  fed  with  milk  of  goat ; 
And  like  him  made  a  noble  shield 

Of  she-goat's  shaggy  coat  : 
On  top  of  burnisht  helmet  he 

Did  wear  a  crest  of  leeks  ; 
And  onions'  heads,  whose  dreadful  nod 

Drew  tears  down  hostile  cheeks. 
Itch  and  Welsh  blood  did  make  him  hot,. 

And  very  prone  to  ire  ; 
H'  was  ting'd  with  brimstone,  like  a  match^ 

And  would  as  soon  take  fire. 
As  brimstone  he  took  inv/ardly 

When  scurf  gave  him  occasion, 
His  postern  pufT  of  wind  was  a 

Sulphureous  exhalation. 
The  Briton  never  tergivers'd. 

But  was  for  adverse  drubbing, 
And  never  turn'd  his  back  to  aught. 

But  to  a  post  for  scrubbing. 


292  Hamofous  Verse 

His  sword  would  serve  for  battle,  or 

For  dinner,  if  you  please  ; 
When  it  had  slain  a  Cheshire  man, 

'Twould  toast  a  Cheshire  cheese. 
He  wounded,  and,  in  their  own  blood. 

Did  anabaptize  Pagans  : 
But  George  he  made  the  dragon  an 

Example  to  all  dragons. 
St.  George  he  was  for  England  ;  St.  Dennis  was 
for  France  ; 
Sing,  Honi  soit  qui  rnal  y  pense. 


Brave  Warwick  Guy,  at  dinner  time, 

Challeng'd  a  gyant  savage  ; 
And  streight  came  out  the  unwieldy  lout. 

Brim-full  of  wrath  and  cabbage  : 
He  had  a  phiz  of  latitude, 

And  was  full  thick  i'  th'  middle  ; 
The  cheeks  of  puffed  trumpeter. 

And  paunch  of  squire  Beadle. 
But  the  knight  fell'd  him,  like  an  oak. 

And  did  upon  his  back  tread  ; 
The  valiant  knight  his  weazon  cut. 

And  Atropos  his  packthread. 
Besides  he  fought  with  a  dun  cow. 

As  say  the  poets  witty, 
A  dreadful  dun,  and  horned  too, 

Like  dun  of  Oxford  city  : 
The  fervent  dog-days  made  her  mad. 

By  causing  heat  of  weather, 
Sirius  and  Procyon  baited  her, 

As  bull-dogs  did  her  father  : 
Grasiers,  nor  butchers  this  fell  beast 

E'er  of  her  frolick  hindred ; 
John  Dosset  she'd  knock  down  as  flat 

As  John  knocks  down  her  kindred  : 


Humorous  Verse  293 

Her  heels  would  lay  ye  all  along, 

And  kick  into  a  swoon  ; 
Frewin's  cow-heels  keep  up  your  corpse, 

But  hers  would  beat  you  down. 
She  vanquisht  many  a  sturdy  wight, 

And  proud  was  of  the  honour ; 
Was  puflft  by  mauling  butchers  so. 

As  if  themselves  had  blown  her. 
At  once  she  kickt,  and  pusht  at  Guy, 

But  all  that  would  not  fright  him  ; 
Who  wav'd  his  winyard  o'er  sir-loyn. 

As  if  he'd  gone  to  knight  him. 
He  let  her  blood,  frenzy  to  cure, 

And  eke  he  did  her  gall  rip ; 
His  trenchant  blade,  like  cook's  long  spit, 

Ran  thro'  the  monster's  bald-rib  : 
He  rear'd  up  the  vast  crooked  rib, 

Instead  of  arch  triumphal  : 
But  George  hit  th'  dragon  such  a  pelt, 

As  made  him  on  his  bum  fall. 
St.  George  he  was  for  England  ;  St.  Dennis  was 
for  France ; 
Sing,  Honi  soit  qui  mal y  pense. 


Tamerlain,  with  Tartarian  bow, 

The  Turkish  squadrons  slew  ; 
And  fetch'd  the  pagan  crescent  down. 

With  half-moon  made  of  yew  : 
His  trusty  bow  proud  Turks  did  gall 

With  showers  of  arrows  thick, 
And  bow-strings,  without  strangling,  sent 

Grand- Visiers  to  old  Nick  : 
Much  turbants,  and  much  Pagan  pates 

He  made  to  humble  in  dust ; 
And  heads  of  Saracens  he  fixt 

On  spear,  as  on  a  sign-post : 


2sr4  Humorous  Verse 

He  coop'd  in  cage  Bajazet,  the  prop 

Of  Mahomet's  religion, 
As  if't  had  been  the  whispering  bird, 

That  prompted  him,  the  pigeon.  ' 
In  Turkey-leather  scabbard  he 

Did  sheath  his  blade  so  trenchant : 
But  George  he  swing'd  the  dragon's  tail, 

And  cut  off  every  inch  on't. 
St.  George  he  was  for  England  ;  St.  Dennis  was 
for  France  ; 
Sing,  Honi  soil  qui  tnal  y  pense. 

The  amazon  Thalestris  was 

Both  beautiful  and  bold  ; 
She  sear'd  her  breasts  with  iron  hot, 

And  bang'd  her  foes  with  cold. 
Her  hand  was  like  the  tool  wherewith 

Jove  keeps  proud  mortals  under  : 
It  shone  just  like  his  lightning. 

And  batter'd  like  his  thunder. 
Her  eye  darts  lightning  that  would  blast 

The  proudest  he  that  swagger' d. 
And  melt  the  rapier  of  his  soul. 

In  its  corporeal  scabbard. 
Her  beauty,  and  her  drum  to  foes 

Did  cause  amazement  double  ; 
As  timorous  larks  amazed  are 

With  light,  and  with  a  low-bell : 
With  beauty,  and  that  Lapland  charm, 

Poor  men  she  did  bewitch  all ; 
Still  a  blind  whining  lover  had. 

As  Pallas  had  her  scrich-owl. 
She  kept  the  chasteness  of  a  nun 

In  armour,  as  in  cloyster: 
But  George  undid  the  dragon  just 

As  you'd  undo  an  oister. 


Humorous  Verse  295 

St.  George  he  was  for  England;  St.  Dennis  was 
for  France  ; 
Sing,  Hotii  soit  qui  mal  y  pense. 


The  Gemini,  sprung  from  an  t.^%^ 

Were  put  into  a  cradle  : 
Their  brains  with  knocks  and  bottled-ale, 

Were  often  times  full-addle  : 
And,  scarcely  hatched,  these  sons  of  him, 

That  hurls  the  bolt  trisulcate. 
With  helmet-shell  on  tender  head. 

Did  tussle  with  red-ey'd  pole-cat. 
Castor  a  horseman,  Pollux  tho' 

A  boxer  was,  I  wist  : 
The  one  was  fam'd  for  iron  heel ; 

Th'  other  for  leaden  fist. 
Pollux,  to  shew  he  was  a  god, 

When  he  was  in  a  passion 
With  fists  made  noses  fall  down  flat 

By  way  of  adoration  : 
This  fist,  as  sure  as  French  disease, 

Demolish'd  noses'  ridges  : 
He  like  a  certain  lord  was  fam'd 

For  breaking  down  of  bridges. 
Castor  the  flame  of  fiery  steed 

With  well-spur'd  boots  took  down  ; 
As  men,  with  leathern  buckets,  quench 

A  fire  in  country  town. 
His  famous  horse,  that  liv'd  on  oats. 

Is  sung  on  oaten  quill ; 
By  bards'  immortal  provender 

The  nag  surviveth  still. 
This  shelly  brood  on  none  but  knaves 

Employ'd  their  brisk  artillery  : 
And  flew  as  naturally  at  rogues, 

As  eggs  at  thief  in  pillory. 


296  Humorous  Verse 

Much  sweat  they  spent  in  furious  fight, 

Much  blood  they  did  effund  : 
Their  whites  they  vented  thro'  the  pores  ; 

Their  yolks  thro'  gaping  wound  : 
Then  both  were  cleans'd  from  blood  and  dust 

To  make  a  heavenly  sign  ; 
The  lads  were,  like  their  armour,  scowr'd, 

And  then  hung  up  to  shine  ; 
Such  were  the  heavenly  double-Dicks, 

The  sons  of  Jove  and  Tyndar  : 
But  George  he  cut  the  dragon  up. 

As  he  had  bin  duck  or  windar. 
St.  George  he  was  for  England  ;  St.  Dennis  was 
for  France  ; 
Sing,  Honi  soil  qui  mal  y  pense. 


Full  fatal  to  the  Romans  was 

The  Carthaginian  Hanni- 
bal ;  him  I  mean,  who  gave  them  such 

A  devilish  thump  at  Cannae  : 
Moors,  thick  as  goats  on  Penmenmure, 

Stood  on  the  Alpes's  front  : 
Their  one-ey'd  guide,  like  blinking  mole, 

Boi-'d  thro'  the  hind'ring  mount : 
Who,  baffled  by  the  massy  rock, 

Took  vinegar  for  relief, 
Like  plowmen,  when  they  hew  their  way 

Thro'  stubborn  rump  of  beef. 
As  dancing  louts  from  humid  toes 

Cast  atoms  of  ill  savour 
To  blinking  Hyatt,  when  on  vile  crowd 

He  merriment  does  endeavour. 
And  saws  from  suffering  timber  out 

Some  wretched  tune  to  quiver. 
So  Romans  stunk  and  squeak'd  at  sight 

Of  Affrican  carnivor. 


Humorous  Verse  297 

The  tawny  surface  of  his  phiz 

Did  serve  instead  of  vizzard  : 
But  George  he  made  the  dragon  have 
A  grumbling  in  his  gizzard. 
St.  George  he  was  for  England  ;  St.  Dennis  was 
for  France ; 
Sing,  Honi  soii  qui  nial y  pense. 


The  valour  of  Domitian, 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  ; 
Who  from  the  jaws  of  worm-blowing  flies, 

Protected  veal  and  mutton. 
A  squadron  of  flies  errant, 

Against  the  foe  appears  ; 
With  regiments  of  buzzing  knights, 

And  swarms  of  volunteers  : 
The  warlike  wasp  encourag'd  'em 

With  animating  hum ; 
And  the  loud  brazen  hornet  next, 

He  was  their  kettle-drum  : 
The  Spanish  don  cantharido 

Did  him  most  sorely  pester, 
And  rais'd  on  skin  of  vent'rous  knight 

Full  many  a  plaguy  blister. 
A  bee  whipt  thro'  his  button-hole, 

As  thro'  key-hole  a  witch. 
And  stabb'd  him  with  her  little  tuck 

Drawn  out  of  scabbard  breech  : 
But  the  undaunted  knight  lifts  up 

An  arm  both  big  and  brawny. 
And  slasht  her  so,  that  here  lay  head, 

And  there  lay  bag  and  honey  : 
Then  'mongst  the  rout  he  flew  as  swift. 

As  weapon  made  by  Cyclops, 
And  bravely  quell'd  seditious  buzz. 

By  dint  of  massy  fly-flops. 


29^  Humorous  Verse 

Surviving  flies  do  curses  breathe, 

And  maggots  too  at  Caesar  : 
But  George  he  shav'd  the  dragon's  beard, 
And  Askelon  was  his  razor. 
St.  George  he  was  for  England ;  St.  Dennis  was 
for  France  ; 
Sing,  Honi  soit  qui  tnal  y  pense. 


SAINT   PATRICK. 
By  Dr.  Maginn. 

A  FIG  for  St.  Dennis  of  France, 

He's  a  trumpery  fellow  to  brag  on  ; 
A  fig  for  St.  George  and  his  lance, 

Which  spitted  a  heathenish  dragon. 
And  the  Saints  of  the  Welshman  or  Scot, 

Are  a  couple  of  pitiful  pipers. 
Both  of  whom  may  just  travel  to  pot, 

Compared  with  the  patron  of  swipers, — 
St.  Patrick  of  Ireland,  my  dear  ! 

He  came  to  the  Emerald  Isle 

On  a  lump  of  a  paving-stone  mounted  ; 
The  steamboat  he  beat  to  a  mile, 

Which  mighty  good  sailing  was  counted. 
Says  he,  "The  salt-water,  I  think. 

Has  made  me  most  bloodily  thirsty, 
So  bring  me  a  flagon  of  drink 

To  keep  down  the  muUegrubs,  burst  ye  ! 
Of  drink  that  is  fit  for  a  saint  ! 

He  preach'd  then  with  wonderful  force, 

The  ignorant  natives  a-teaching  ; 
With  a  pint  he  wash'd  down  his  discourse, 

For,"  says  he,  "  I  detest  your  dry  preaching." 


Humorous  Verse  299 

The  people,  with  wonderment  struck 

At  a  pastor  so  pious  and  civil, 
Exclaim'd,  "  We're  for  you,  my  old  buck. 

And  we  pitch  our  blind  gods  to  the  devil, 
Who  dwells  in  hot  water  below." 


This  ended,  our  worshipful  spoon 

Went  to  visit  an  elegant  fellow, 
Whose  practice  each  cool  afternoon, 

Was  to  gel  most  delightfully  mellow. 
That  day,  with  a  black  jack  of  beer. 

It  chanced  he  was  treating  a  party ; 
Says  the  Saint,  "  This  good  day,  do  you  hear, 

I  drink  nothing  to  speak  of,  my  hearty ; 
So  give  me  a  pull  at  the  pot." 

The  pewter  he  lifted  in  sport 

(Believe  me  I  tell  you  no  fable), 
A  gallon  he  drank  from  the  quart. 

And  then  planted  it  full  on  the  table. 
"A  miracle  !  "  every  one  said, 

And  they  all  took  a  haul  at  the  stingo  ; 
They  were  capital  hands  at  the  trade. 

And  drank  till  they  fell ;  yet,  by  jingo  ! 
The  pot  still  froth'd  over  the  brim. 

Next  day,  quoth  his  host,  '"Tis  a  fast, 

But  I've  nought  in  my  larder  but  mutton  ; 
And  on  Fridays  who'd  make  such  repast, 

Except  an  unchristian-like  glutton  ?" 
Says  Pat,  '"  Cease  your  nonsense,  I  beg. 

What  you  tell  me  is  nothing  but  gammon  ; 
Take  my  compliments  down  to  the  leg, 

And  bid  it  come  hither  a  salmon  !" 
And  the  leg  most  politely  complied. 


3°°  Humorous  Verse 

You've  heard,  I  suppose,  long  ago, 

How  the  snakes  in  a  manner  most  antic, 
He  march'd  to  the  county  Mayo, 

And  trundled  them  into  th'  Atlantic. 
Hence  not  to  use  water  for  drink 

The  people  of  Ireland  determine  ; 
With  mighty  good  reason  I  think. 

Since  St.  Patrick  has  fill'd  it  with  vermin. 
And  vipers,  and  other  such  stuff. 

Oh  !  he  was  an  elegant  blade, 

As  you'd  meet  from  Fair  Head  to  Kilcrumper 
And  though  under  the  sod  he  is  laid, 

Yet  here  goes  his  health  in  a  bumper  I 
I  wish  he  was  here  that  my  glass 

He  might  by  art  magic  replenish  ; 
But  as  he  is  not,  why,  alas  ! 

My  ditty  must  come  to  a  finish, 
Because  all  the  liquor  is  out. 


DON  JUAN  APPROACHES  LONDON. 
By  Lord  Byron. 

Through  Groves,  so  call'd  as  being  void  of  trees, 
(Like  lucus  from  no  light) ;  through  prospects 
named 

Mount  Pleasant,  as  containing  nought  to  please, 
Nor  much  to  climb  ;  through  little  boxes  framed 

Of  bricks,  to  let  the  dust  m  at  your  ease, 

With  "To  be  let"  upon  their  doors  proclaimed  ; 

Through   "  Rows "  most  modestly  called  "  Para- 
dise," 

Which  Eve  might  quit  without  much  sacrifice  ; — 


Humofotts  Vei^e  301 

Through  coaches,  drays,  choked  turnpikes,  and  a 
whirl 

Of  wheels,  and  roar  of  voices,  and  confusion  ; 
Here  taverns  wooing  to  a  pint  of  "  purl," 

There  mails  fast  flying  off  like  a  delusion  ; 
There  barbers'  blocks  with  periwigs  in  curl 

In  windows  ;  here  the  lamplighter's  infusion 
Slowly  distill'd  into  the  glimmering  glass 
(For  in  those  days  we  had  not  got  to  gas) ; — 

Through  this,  and  much,  and  more,  is  the  approach 

Of  travellers  to  mighty  Babylon  : 
Whether  they  come  by  horse,  or  chaise,  or  coach, 

With  slight  exceptions,  all  the  ways  seem  one. 
I  could  say  more,  but  do  not  choose  to  encroach 

Upon  the  Guide-book's  privilege.     The  sun 
Had  set  some  time,  and  night  was  on  the  ridge 
Of  twilight,  as  the  party  cross'd  the  bridge. 

That's  rather  fine,  the  gentle  sound  of  Thamis — 
Who  vindicates  a  moment,  too,  his  stream — 

Though      hardly      heard      through      multifarious 
"damme's." 
The  lamps  of  Westminster's  more  regular  gleam, 

The  breadth  of  pavement,  and  yon  shrine  where 
fame  is 
A  spectral  resident — whose  pallid  beam 

In  shape  of  moonshine  hovers  o'er  the  pile — 

Make  this  a  sacred  part  of  Albion's  isle. 

The  Druids'  groves  are  gone — so  much  the  better  : 
Stonehenge  is  not — but  what  the  devil  is  it  ? — 

But  Bedlam  still  exists  with  its  sage  fetter. 
That  madmen  may  not  bite  you  on  a  visit ; 

The  Bench  too  seats  or  suits  full  many  a  debtor ; 
The  Mansion-House,  too,  (though  some  people 
quiz  it,) 

To  me  appears  a  stiff  yet  grand  erection  : 

But  then  the  Abbey's  worth  the  whole  collection. 


302  Humorous  Verse 

The  line  of  lights,  too,  up  to  Charing  Cross, 
Pall  Mall,  and  so  forth,  have  a  coruscation 

Like  gold  as  in  comparison  to  dross, 

Match'd  with  the  Continent's  illumination, 

Whose  cities  Night  by  no  means  deigns  to  gloss. 
The  French  were  not  yet  a  lamp-lighting  nation, 

And  when  they  grew  so — on  their  new-found  lantern, 

Instead  of  wicks,  they  made  a  wicked  man  turn. 

A  row  of  gentlemen  along  the  streets 
Suspended  may  illuminate  mankind, 

As  also  bonfires  made  of  country-seats  ; 
But  the  old  way  is  best  for  the  purblind : 

The  other  looks  like  phosphorus  on  sheets, 
A  sort  of  ignis  fatuus  to  the  mind. 

Which,  though  't  is  certain  to  perplex  and  frighten, 

Must  burn  more  mi'dly  ere  it  can  enlighten. 

But  London  's  so  well  lit,  that  if  Diogenes 
Could  recommence  to  hunt  his  honest  man. 

And  found  him  not  amidst  the  various  progenies 
Of  this  enormous  city's  spreading  spawn, 

'T  were  not  for  want  of  lamps  to  aid  his  dodging  his 
Yet  undiscover'd  treasure.     What  /  can, 

I've  done  to  find  the  same  throughout  life's  journey, 

But  see  the  world  is  only  one  attorney. 


MR.  BARNEY   MAGUIRE'S   ACCOUNT   OF 
THE   CORONATION. 

By  THE  Rev.  R.  H.  Barham. 

OCH  !  the  Coronation  !  what  celebration 
For  emulation  can  with  it  compare  "i 

When  to  Westminster  the  Koyal  Spinster 

And  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  all  in  order  did  repair 


Humorous  Verse  303 

'Twas  there  you'd  see  the  new  Polishemen 
Making  a  scrimmage  at  half  after  four  ; 

And  the  Lords  and  Ladies,  and  the  Miss  O'Gradys, 
All  standing  round  before  the  Abbey  door. 

Their  pillows  scorning,  that  self-same  morning 

Themselves  adorning,  all  by  the  candlelight, 
With  roses  and  lilies  and  daffy-down-dillies, 

And  gould  and  jewels,  and  rich  di'monds  bright. 
And  then  approaches  five  hundred  coaches, 

With  General  Dullbeak. — Och  !  'twas  mighty 
fine 
To  see  how  asy  bould  Corporal  Casey, 

With  his  sword  drawn,  prancing,  made  them 
kape  the  line. 

Then  the  Guns'  alarums,  and  the  King  of  Arums, 

All  in  his  Garters  and  his  Clarence  shoes, 
Opening  the  massy  doors  to  the  bould  Ambassy- 
dors. 

The  Prince  of  Potboys,  and  great  haythen  Jews 
'Twould  have  made  you  crazy  to  see  Esterhazy 

AH  jools  from  his  jasey  to  his  di'mond  boots ; 
With  Alderman  Harmer,  and  that  swate  charmer, 

The  female  heiress.  Miss  Anja-ly  Coutts. 

And  Wellington,  walking  with  his  swoord  drawn, 
talking 

To  Hill  and  Hardinge,  haroes  of  great  fame; 
And  Sir  De  Lacy,  and  the  Duke  Dalmasey 

(They  call'd  him  Sowlt  afore  he  changed  his 
name). 
Themselves  presading  Lord  Melbourne,  lading 

The  Queen,  the  darling,  to  her  royal  chair, 
And  that  fine  ould  fellow,  the  Duke  of  Pell  Mello, 

The  Queen  of  Portingal's  Chargy- de-fair. 


304  Humorous  Verse 

Then  the  Noble  Prussians,  likewise  the  Russians, 

In  fine  laced  jackets  with  their  goulden  cuffs. 
And  the  Bavarians,  and  the  proud  Hungarians, 

And  Everythingarians  all  in  furs  and  muffs. 
Then  Misthur  Spaker,  with  Misthur  Pays  the 
Quaker, 
All  in  the  gallery  you  might  persave ; 
But  Lord  Brougham  was  missing,  and  gone 
a-fishing, 
Ounly  crass  Lord  Essex  would  not  give  him 
lave. 

There  was  Baron  Alten  himself  exalting. 
And  Prince  Von  Schwartzenberg,  and  many 
more ; 
Och  !  I'd  be  bother'd,  and  entirely  smother'd, 

To  tell  the  half  of  'em  was  to  the  fore; 
With  the  swate  Peeresses,  in  their  crowns  and 
dresses. 
And  Aldermanesses,  and  the  Boord  of  Works  ; 
But  Mehemet  Ali  said,  quite  gintaly, 
"  I'd  be  proud  to  see  the  likes  among  the 
Turks!" 

Then  the  Queen,  Heaven  bless  her!  och!  they  did 
dress  her 

In  her  purple  garaments  and  her  goulden  crown. 
Like  Venus  or  Hebe,  or  the  Queen  of  Sheby, 

With  eight  young  ladies  houlding  up  her  gown  ; 
Sure  'twas  grand  to  see  her,  also  for  to  he-ar 

The  big  drums  bating,  and  the  trumpets  blow ; 
And  Sir  George  Smart,  oh  !  he  played  a  Consarto, 

With  his  four-and-twenty  fiddlers  all  on  a  row  ! 

Then  the  Lord  Archbishop  held  a  goulden  dish  up 
For  to  resave  her  bounty  and  great  wealth. 

Saying,  "  Plase  your  Glory,  great  Queen  Vic-tory ! 
Ye'll  give  the  Clargy  lave  to  dhrink  your  health!" 


Humorous  Verse  305 

Then  his  Riverence  retrating,  discoorsed  the 
mating — 

"  Boys,  here's  your  Queen  !  deny  it  if  you  can  ! 
And  if  any  bould  traitour,  or  infarior  craythur, 

Sneezes  at  that — I'd  Hke  to  see  the  man  !" 

Then  the  Nobles  kneeling,  to  the  Pow'rs  appeal- 
ing— 

"  Heaven  send  your  Majesty  a  glorious  reign  !" 
And  Sir  Claudius  Hunter,  he  did  confront  her, 

All  in  his  scarlet  gown  and  goulden  chain. 
The  great  Lord  May'r,  too,  sat  in  his  chair  too, 

But  mighty  sarious,  looking  fit  to  cry. 
For  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  all  in  his  hurry. 

Throwing  the  thirteens,  hit  him  in  his  eye. 

Then  there  was  preaching,  and  good  store  of 
speeching, 
With  Dukes  and  Marquises  on  bended  knee ; 
And  they  did  splash  her  with  raal  Macasshur, 
And  the  Queen  said,  "Ah  !  then  thank  ye  all 
for  me ! " 
Then  the  trumpets  braying,  and  the  organ  playing, 

And  sweet  trombones,  with  their  silver  tones  ; 
But  Lord  Rolle  was  rolling — 'twas  mighty  con- 
soling 
To  think  his  Lordship  did  not  break  his  bones! 

Then  the  crames  and  custard,  and  the  beef  and 
mustard. 
All  on  the  tombstones  like  a  poultherer's  shop. 
With  lobsters  and  white-bait,  and  other  swatemeats, 

And  wine  and  nagus,  and  Imparial  Pop ! 
There  was  cakes  and  apples  in  all  the  Chapels, 
With  fine  polonies  and  rich  mellow  pears, — 
Och  !  the  Count  Von  Strogonoff,  sure  he  got  prog 
enough. 
The  sly  old  Divil,  undernathe  the  stairs. 

X 


3o6  Humorous  Verse 

Then  the  cannons  thunder'd,  and  the  people 
wonder'd, 

Crying,  "  God  save  Victoria,  our  Royal  Queen!'' 
Och  !  if  myself  should  live  to  be  a  hundred 

Sure  it's  the  proudest  day  that  I'll  have  seen  ! 
And  now,  I've  ended,  what  I  pretended, 

This  narration  splendid  in  swate  poe-thry. 
Ye  dear  bewitcher,  just  hand  the  pitcher. 

Faith,  it's  myself  that's  getting  mighty  dhry. 

BAD  LUCK  TO  THIS  MARCHING. 
By  Charles  Lever. 

Bad  luck  to  this  marching, 

Pipe-claying  and  starching ; 
How  neat  one  must  be  to  be  killed  by  the  French  I 

I'm  sick  of  parading, 

Through  wet  and  cowld  wading, 
Or  standing  all  night  to  be  shot  in  a  trench. 

To  the  tune  of  a  fife, 

They  dispose  of  your  life, 
You  surrender  your  soul  to  some  illigant  lilt. 

Now  I  like  Garryowen, 

When  I  hear  it  at  home, 
But  it's  not  half  so  sweet  when  you're  going  to  be 
kilt. 

Then  though  up  late  and  early, 

Our  pay  comes  so  rarely, 
The  devil  a  farthing  we've  ever  to  spare  ; 

They  say  some  disaster, 

Befel  the  paymaster ; 
In  my  conscience  I  think  that  the  money's  not 
there. 

And,  just  think,  what  a  blunder  ; 

They  won't  let  us  plunder, 
While  the  convents  invite  us  to  rob  them,  'tis  clear  ; 


Humorous  Verse  307 

Though  there  isn't  a  village, 
But  cries,  "  Come  and  pillage," 
Yet  we  leave  all  the  mutton  behind  for  Mounseer. 

Like  a  sailor  that's  nigh  land, 

I  long  for  that  island 
Where  even  the  kisses  we  steal  if  we  please ; 

Where  it  is  no  disgrace,  ' 

If  you  don't  wash  your  face, 
And  you've  nothing  to  do  but  to  stand  at  your  ease. 

With  no  sergeant  t'abuse  us, 

We  fight  to  amuse  us. 
Sure  it's  better  beat  Christian  than  kick  a  baboon  ; 

How  I'd  dance  like  a  fairy. 

To  see  ould  Dunleary, 
And  think  twice  ere  I'd  leave  it  to  be  a  dragoon  ! 


DOUBLE  BALLADE 
OF  PRIMITIVE     MAN. 

By  Andrew  Lang. 

He  lived  in  a  cave  by  the  seas. 

He  lived  upon  oysters  and  foes. 
But  his  list  of  forbidden  degrees 

An  extensive  morality  shows  ; 
Geological  evidence  goes 

To  prove  he  had  never  a  pan. 
But  he  shaved  with  a  shell  when  he  chose, — 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man. 

He  worshipp'd  the  rain  and  the  breeze, 
He  worshipp'd  the  river  that  flows. 

And  the  Dawn,  and  the  Moon,  and  the  trees 
And  bogies,  and  serpents,  and  crows  ; 


)08  Humorous  Verse 

He  buried  his  dead  with  their  toes 

Tucked-up,  an  original  plan, 
Till  their  knees  came  right  under  their  nose, — 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man. 

His  communal  wives,  at  his  ease, 

He  would  curb  with  occasional  blows 
Or  his  State  had  a  queen,  like  the  bees 

(As  another  philosopher  trows) : 
When  he  spoke,  it  was  never  in  prose. 

But  he  sang  in  a  strain  that  would  scan, 
For-^o  doubt  it,  perchance,  were  morose) 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man  ! 

On  the  coasts  that  incessantly  freeze. 

With  his  stones,  and  his  bones,  and  his  bows> 
On  luxuriant  tropical  leas, 

Where  the  summer  eternally  glows, 
He  is  found,  and  his  habits  disclose 

(Let  theology  say  what  she  can) 
That  he  lived  in  the  long,  long  agos, 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man  ! 

From  a  status  like  that  of  the  Crees 

Our  society's  fabric  arose, — 
Develop'd,  evolved,  if  you  please. 

But  deluded  chronologists  chose. 
In  a  fancied  accordance  with  Mos 

es,  4000  B.C.  for  the  span 
When  he  rushed  on  the  world  and  its  woes, — 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man. 

But  the  mild  anthropologist — he^s 

Not  recent  inclined  to  suppose 
Flints  Palfeolithic  like  these. 

Quaternary  bones  such  as  those  ! 


Humorous  Verse  309 

In  Rhinoceros,  Mammoth  and  Co.'s 

First  epoch  the  Human  began 
Theologians  all  to  expose, — 

Tis  the  missioti  of  Primitive  Man. 

ENVOY. 

Max,  proudly  your  Aryans  pose. 
But  their  rigs  they  undoubtedly  ran, 

For,  as  every  Darwinian  knows, 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man  ! 


GEMINI  AND  VIRGO. 
By  Charles  S.  Calverley. 

Some  vast  amount  of  years  ago. 

Ere  all  my  youth  had  vanish'd  from  me, 

A  boy  it  was  my  lot  to  know. 

Whom  his  familiar  friends  called  Tommy. 

I  love  to  gaze  upon  a  child  ; 

A  young  bud  bursting  into  blossom  ; 
Artless  as  Eve  yet  unbeguiled. 

And  agile  as  a  young  opossum  : 

And  such  was  he.     A  calm-brow'd  lad, 
Yet  mad,  at  moments,  as  a  hatter  : 

Why  hatters  as  a  race  are  mad, 
I  never  knew,  nor  does  it  matter. 

He  was  what  nurses  call  a  "  limb  "  ; 

One  of  those  small  misguided  creatures. 
Who,  tho'  their  intellects  are  dim, 

Are  one  too  many  for  their  teachers  : 

And,  if  you  asked  of  him  to  say 
What  twice  10  was,  or  3  times  7, 

He'd  glance  (in  quite  a  placid  way) 
From  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven 


lo  Humorous  Verse 

And  smile,  and  look  politely  round 

To  catch  a  casual  suggestion  ; 
But  make  no  effort  to  propound 

Any  solution  of  the  question. 

And  so  not  much  esteemed  was  he 
Of  the  authorities  :  and  therefore 

He  fraternized  by  chance  with  me, 
Needing  a  somebody  to  care  for  ; 

And  three  fair  summers  did  we  twain 
Live  (as  they  say)  and  love  together  ; 

And  bore  by  turns  the  wholesome  cane 
Till  our  young  skins  became  as  leather  : 

And  carved  our  names  on  every  desk, 

And  tore  our  clothes,  and  inked  our  collars  ; 

And  looked  unique  and  picturesque. 
But  not,  it  may  be,  model  scholars. 

We  did  much  as  we  chose  to  do  ; 

We'd  never  heard  of  Mrs.  Grundy ; 
All  the  theology  we  knew 

Was  that  we  mightn't  play  on  Sunday ; 

And  all  the  general  truths,  that  cakes 
Were  to  be  bought  at  four  a  penny, 

And  that  excruciating  aches 
Resulted  if  we  ate  too  many. 

And  seeing  ignorance  is  bliss. 

And  wisdom  consequently  folly, 
The  obvious  result  is  this— 

That  our  two  lives  were  very  jolly. 

At  last  the  separation  came. 

Real  love,  at  that  time,  was  the  fashion  ; 
And  by  a  horrid  chance,  the  same 

Young  thing  was,  to  us  both,  a  passion. 


Humorous  Verse  311 

Old  Poser  snorted  like  a  horse  : 

His  feet  were  large,  his  hands  were  pimply, 
His  manner,  when  excited,  coarse  : — 

But  Miss  P.  was  an  angel  simply. 

She  was  a  blushing,  gushing  thing  ; 

All — more  than  all— my  fancy  painted  ; 
Once — when  she  helped  me  to  a  wing 

Of  goose — I  thought  I  should  have  fainted. 

The  people  said  that  she  was  blue  : 
But  I  was  green,  and  loved  her  dearly. 

She  was  approaching  thirty-two; 
And  I  was  then  eleven,  nearly. 

I  did  not  love  as  others  do  ; 

(None  ever  did  that  I've  heard  tell  of;) 
My  passion  was  a  byword  through 

The  town  she  was,  of  course,  the  belle  of. 

Oh  sweet — as  to  the  toilworn  man 
The  far-ofif  sound  of  rippling  river ; 

As  to  cadets  in  Hindostan 

The  fleeting  remnant  of  their  liver — 

To  me  was  Anna ;  dear  as  gold 

That  fills  the  miser's  sunless  coffers  ; 

As  to  the  spinster,  growing  old, 

The  thought— the  dream— that  she  had  offers. 

I'd  sent  her  little  gifts  of  fruit ; 

I'd  written  lines  to  her  as  Venus  ; 
I'd  sworn  unflinchingly  to  shoot 

The  man  who  dared  to  come  between  us  : 

And  it  was  you,  my  Thomas,  you, 

The  friend  in  whom  my  soul  confided, 

Who  dared  to  gaze  on  her— to  do, 
I  may  say,  much  the  same  as  I  did. 


312  Humorous  Verse 

One  night,  I  saw  him  squeeze  her  hand  ; 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  matter ; 
I  said  he  must  resign,  or  stand 

My  vengeance — and  he  chose  the  latter. 

We  met,  we  "  planted  "  blows  on  blows  : 
We  fought  as  long  as  we  were  able  : 

My  rival  had  a  bottle-nose, 
And  both  my  speaking  eyes  were  sable, 

When  the  school-bell  cut  short  our  strife. 

Miss  P.  gave  both  of  us  a  plaister ; 
And  in  a  week  became  the  wife 

Of  Horace  Nibbs,  the  writing-master. 


I  loved  her  then — I'd  love  her  still, 
Only  one  must  not  love  Another's  : 

But  thou  and  I,  my  Tommy,  will, 
When  we  again  meet,  meet  as  brothers. 

It  may  be  that  in  age  one  seeks 

Peace  only  :  that  the  blood  is  brisker 

In  boys'  veins,  than  in  theirs  whose  cheeks 
Are  partially  obscured  by  whisker  ; 

Or  that  the  growing  ages  steal 

The  memories  of  past  wrongs  from  us. 

But  this  is  certain — that  I  feel 
Most  friendly  unto  thee,  O  Thomas  ! 

And  wheresoe'er  we  meet  again. 
On  this  or  that  side  the  equator — 

If  I've  not  turned  teetotaller  then, 

And  have  wherewith  to  pay  the  waiter — 

To  thee  I'll  drain  the  modest  cup. 
Ignite  with  thee  the  mild  Havannah  ; 

And  we  will  waft,  while  liquoring  up. 
Forgiveness  to  the  heartless  Anna. 


Humorous  Verse  313 

THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  AGIB. 
By  W.  S.  Gilbert. 

Strike  the  concertina's  melancholy  string  ! 

Blow  the  spirit-stirring  harp  like  anything ! 
Let  the  piano's  martial  blast 
Rouse  the  Echoes  of  the  Past, 

For  of  Agib,  Prince  of  Tartary,  I  sing  ! 

Of  Agib,  who,  amid  Tartaric  scenes, 
Wrote  a  lot  of  ballet  music  in  his  teens  : 

His  gentle  spirit  rolls 

In  the  melody  of  souls — 
Which  is  pretty,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  means. 

Of  Agib,  who  could  readily,  at  sight. 
Strum  a  march  upon  the  loud  Theodolite. 

He  would  diligently  play 

On  the  Zoetrope  all  day, 
And  blow  the  gay  Pantechnicon  all  night. 

One  winter — I  am  shaky  in  my  dates — 

Came  two  starving  Tartar  minstrels  to  his  gates  ; 

Oh,  Allah  be  obeyed, 

How  infernally  they  played  ! 
I    remember    that    they    called    themselves    the 
"  Ouaits." 

Oh  !  that  day  of  sorrow,  misery,  and  rage. 
I  shall  carry  to  the  Catacombs  of  Age, 

Photographically  lined 

On  the  tablet  of  my  mind, 
When  a  yesterday  has  faded  from  its  page  ! 

Alas  !  Prince  Agib  went  and  asked  them  in  ; 
Gave  them  beer,  and  eggs,  and  sweets,  and  scent, 
and  tin. 

And  when  (as  snobs  would  say) 

They  had  "  put  it  all  away," 
He  requested  them  to  tune  up  and  begin. 


3^4  Humorous  Verse 

Though  its  icy  horror  chill  you  to  the  core, 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  never  told  before, — 

The  consequences  true 

Of  that  awful  interview, 
For  I  listened  at  the  keyhole  in  the  door  ! 

They  played  him  a  sonata  -  let  me  see  ! 
^''Medulla  oblongata  " — key  of  G. 

Then  they  began  to  sing 

That  extremely  lovely  thing, 
"  Scherzando  I  ma  non  troppo^  PPP" 

He   gave    them    money,    more   than   they   could 
count, 

Scent  from  a  most  ingenious  little  fount, 
More  beer,  in  little  kegs, 
Many  dozen  hard-boiled  eggs, 

And  goodies  to  a  fabulous  amount. 

Now  follows  the  dim  horror  of  my  tale 
And  I  feel  I'm  growing  gradually  pale, 
For,  even  at  this  day, 
Though  its  sting  has  passed  away, 
When  I  venture  to  remember  it,  I  quail  ! 

The  elder  of  the  brothers  gave  a  squeal, 
All-overish  it  made  me  for  to  feel  ; 

"  Oh,  Prince, '  he  says,  says  he, 

"//"a  Prince  indeed  you  be, 
I've  a  mystery  I'm  going  to  reveal  ! 

"  Oh,  listen,  if  you'd  shun  a  horrid  death. 

To  what  the  gent  who's  speaking  to  you  saith  : 

No  '  Oiiaits  '  in  truth  are  we, 

As  you  fancy  that  we  be. 
For  (ter-remble  !)  I  am  Aleck — this  is  Beth  !" 


Humorous  Verse  315 

Said  Agib,  "  Oh  !  accursed  of  your  kind, 
I  have  heard  that  ye  are  men  of  evil  mind  I " 
Beth  gave  a  fearful  shriek — 
But  before  he'd  time  to  speak 
I  was  mercilessly  collared  from  behind. 

In  number  ten  or  twelve,  or  even  more, 
They  fastened  me  full  length  upon  the  floor. 

On  my  face  extended  flat, 

I  was  walloped  with  a  cat 
For  listening  at  the  keyhole  of  a  door. 

Oh  !  the  horror  of  that  agonizing  thrill ! 

(I  can  feel  the  place  in  frosty  weather  still). 

For  a  week  from  ten  to  four 

I  was  fastened  to  the  floor, 
While  a  mercenary  wopped  me  with  a  will. 

They  branded  me  and  broke  me  on  a  wheel, 
And  they  left  me  in  an  hospital  to  heal ; 

And,  upon  my  solemn  word, 

I  have  never  never  heard 
What  those  Tartars  had  determined  to  reveal. 

But  that  day  of  sorrow,  misery,  and  rage, 
I  shall  carry  to  the  Catacombs  of  Age, 

Photographically  lined 

On  the  tablet  of  my  mind, 
When  a  yesterday  has  faded  from  its  page. 


NOT  I. 

By  R.  L.  Stevenson. 

Some  like  drink 

In  a  pint  pot. 
Some  like  to  think, 

Some  not. 


3*6  Humorous  Verse 

Strong  Dutch  cheese, 
Old  Kentucky  Rye  ; 

Some  like  these ; 
Not  I. 

Some  like  Poe 

And  others  like  Scott, 
Some  like  Mrs.  Stowe, 

Some  not. 

Some  like  to  laugh. 
Some  like  to  cry, 

Some  like  to  chaff. 
Not  I. 


ODE  TO  TOBACCO. 
By  Charles  S.  Calverley. 

Thou  who,  when  fears  attack, 
Bidst  them  avaunt,  and  Black 
Care,  at  the  horseman's  back 

Perching,  unseatest ; 
Sweet,  when  the  morn  is  gray  ; 
Sweet,  when  they've  cleared  away 
Lunch  ;  and  at  close  of  day 

Possibly  sweetest : 

I  have  a  liking  old 

For  thee,  though  manifold 

Stories,  I  know,  are  told. 

Not  to  thy  credit ; 
How  one  (or  two  at  most) 
Drops  make  a  cat  a  ghost — 
Useless,  except  to  roast — 

Doctors  have  said  it : 


Humorous  Verse  317 

How  they  who  use  fusees 
All  grow  by  slow  degrees 
Brainless  as  chimpanzees, 

Meagre  as  lizards  : 
Go  mad,  and  beat  their  wives  ; 
Plunge  (after  shocking  lives) 
Razors  and  carving  knives 

Into  their  gizzards 

Confound  such  knavish  tricks  ! 
Yet  I  know  five  or  six 
Smokers  who  freely  mix 

Still  with  their  neighbours  ; 
Jones— (who,  I'm  glad  to  say. 
Asked  leave  of  Mrs.  J.) — 
Daily  absorbs  a  clay 

After  his  labours. 

Cats  may  have  had  their  goose 
Cooked  by  tobacco-juice  ; 
Still  why  deny  its  use 

Thoughtfully  taken  ? 
We're  not  as  tabbies  are  : 
Smith,  take  a  fresh  cigar  ! 
Jones,  the  tobacco-jar  ! 

Here's  to  thee.  Bacon  ! 


TO  THE  TERRESTRIAL  GLOBE. 

BY  A  MISERABLE   WRETCH. 

By  W.  S.  Gilbert. 

Roll  on,  thou  ball,  roll  on  I 
Through  pathless  realms  of  Space 

Roll  on  ! 
What  though  I'm  in  a  sorr>'  case  ? 


3i8  Humorous  Verse 

What  though  I  cannot  meet  my  bills  ? 
What  though  I  suffer  toothache's  ills  ? 
What  though  I  swallow  countless  pills  ? 
Never  you  mind  ! 
Roll  on  ! 

Roll  on,  thou  ball,  roll  on  ! 
Through  seas  of  inky  air 

Roll  on  ! 
It's  true  I've  got  no  shirts  to  wear ; 
It's  true  my  butcher's  bill  is  due  ; 
It's  true  my  prospects  all  look  blue — 
But  don't  let  that  unsettle  you  ! 
Never _j'(7«  mind! 
Roll  on. 

[/^  rolls  on. 


SOME  HALLUCINATIONS. 
By  Lewis  Carroll. 

He  thought  he  saw  an  Elephant, 

That  practised  on  a  fife  : 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 
A  letter  from  his  wife. 
"  At  length  I  realise,"  he  said, 
"The  bitterness  of  Life  !" 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Buffalo 

Upon  the  chimney-piece  : 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

His  Sister's  Husband's  Niece. 
"  Unless  you  leave  this  house,"  he  said, 

"  I'll  send  for  the  Police!" 


Humorous  Verse  319 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Rattlesnake 
That  questioned  him  in  Greek  : 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 
The  Middle  of  Next  Week. 
"The  one  thing  I  regret,"  he  said, 
"  Is  that  it  cannot  speak  !" 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Banker's  Clerk 

Descending  from  the  'bus  : 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

A  Hippopotamus  : 
"If  this  should  stay  to  dine,"  he  said, 
"  There  won't  be  much  for  us  ! " 


ETIQUETTE. 
ByW.  S.  Gilbert. 

The   Ballyshannon   foundered   off    the   coast   of 

Cariboo, 
And  down  in  fathoms  many  went  the  captain  and 

the  crew ; 
Down  went  the  owners — greedy  men  whom  hope 

of  gain  allured  : 
Oh,  dry  the  starting  tear,  for  they  were  heavily 

insured. 

Besides  the  captain  and  the  mate,  the  owners  and 

the  crew. 
The  passengers  were  also  drowned  excepting  only 

two  : 
Young   Peter   Gray,   who  tasted  teas  for   Baker, 

Croop,  and  Co., 
And  Somers,  who  from  Eastern  shores  imported 

indigo. 


320  Humofous  Verse 

These  passengers,  by  reason  of  their  clinging  to  a 

mast. 
Upon  a  desert  island  were  eventually  cast. 
They  hunted  for  their  meals,  as  Alexander  Selkirk 

used, 
But   they  couldn't   chat   together — they  had   not 

been  introduced. 

For  Peter  Gray,  and  Somers  too,  though  certainly 

in  trade, 
Were  properly  particular  about  the  friends  they 

made  ; 
And  somehow  thus  they  settled  it  without  a  word 

of  mouth — 
That  Gray  should  take  the  northern  half,  while 

Somers  took  the  south. 

On  Peter's  portion  oysters  grew — a  delicacy  rare. 
But  oysters  were  a  delicacy  Peter  couldn't  bear. 
On  Somers'  side  was  turtle,  on  the  shingle  lying 

thick, 
Which    Somers    couldn't   eat,  because   it   always 

made  him  sick. 

Gray  gnashed  his  teeth  with  envy  as  he  saw  a 

mighty  store 
Of    turtle    unmolested    on    his    fellow-creature's 

shore. 
The   oysters    at    his    feet    aside    impatiently    he 

shoved. 
For  turtle  and  his  mother  were  the  only  things  he 

loved.  , 

And  Somers  sighed  in  sorrow  as  he  settled  in  the 

south, 
For  the  thought  of  Peter's  oysters  brought   the 

water  to  his  mouth. 


Humorous  Verse  321 

He  longed  to  lay  him  down  upon  the  shelly  bed, 

and  stuff: 
He  had  often  eaten  oysters,  but  had  never  had 

enough. 

How  they  wished  an  introduction  to  each  other 

they  had  had 
When  on  board  the  Ballyshannon  /    And  it  drove 

them  nearly  mad 
To  think  how  very  friendly  with  each  other  they 

might  get. 
If  it  wasn't  for  the  arbitrary  rule  of  etiquette  ! 

One    day,    when    out    a -hunting    for    the    mus 

ridiculus^ 
Gray  overheard  his  fellow-man  soliloquising  thus: 
"  I   wonder  how  the  playmates  of  my  youth  are 

getting  on, 
M'Connell,    S.    B.    Walters,    Paddy    Byles,   and 

Robinson  ?  " 

These  simple  words  made  Peter  as  delighted  as 

could  be, 
Old  chummies  at  the  Charterhouse  were  Robinson 

and  he  ! 
He  walked  straight  up  to  Somers,?then  he  turned 

extremely  red, 
Hesitated,  hummed  and  hawed  abit,  then  cleared 

his  throat,  and  said  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — pray  forgive  me  if  I  seem 

too  bold, 
But  you  have  breathed  a  name  I  knew  familiarly 

of  old. 
You  spoke  aloud  of  Robinson — I  happened  to  be 

by. 
You  know  him  ?  "    "  Yes,  extremely  well."    "  Allow 

me,  so  do  1." 

y 


322  Humorous  Verse 

It  was  enough  :  they  felt  they  could  more  pleasantly 

get  on, 
For  (ah,  the  magic  of  the  fact  !)  they  each  knew 

Robinson  ! 
And    Mr.   Somers'  turtle    was    at    Peter's    service 

quite. 
And  Mr.  Somers  punished  Peter's  oyster-beds  all 

night. 

They  soon  became  like  brothers  from  community 

of  wrongs  : 
They  wrote  each  other  little  odes  and  sang  each 

other  songs  ; 
They  told  each  other  anecdotes  disparaging  their 

wives  ; 
On  several  occasions,  too,  they  saved  each  other's 

lives. 

They  felt  quite  melancholy  when  they  parted  for 

the  night, 
And  got  up  in  the  morning  soon  as  ever  it  was 

light ; 
Each  other's  pleasant  company  they  reckoned  so 

upon, 
And  all  because  it  happened  that  they  both  knew 
Robinson  ! 

They  lived  for  many  years  on  that  inhospitable 

shore, 
And  day  by  day  they  learned  to  love  each  other 

more  and  more. 
At  last,  to  their  astonishment,  on  getting  up  one 

day, 
They  saw  a  frigate  anchored  in  the  offing  of  the 

bay. 


Humorous  Verse  323 

To  Peter  an  idea  occurred.     "  Suppose  we  cross 

the  main  ? 
So    good    an    opportunity    may    not    be    found 

again." 
And  Somers  thought  a  minute,  then  ejaculated, 

"  Done  ! 
I  wonder  how  my  business  in  the  City's  getting 

on?" 


"  But  stay,"  said  Mr.  Peter :  "  when  in  England, 

as  you  know, 
I  earned  a  living  tasting  teas  for  Baker,  Croop, 

and  Co., 
I   may  be  superseded — my  employers  think  me 

dead ! " 
"Then  come  with  me,"  said  Somers,  "and  taste 

indigo  instead." 

But  all  their  plans  were  scattered  in  a  moment 

when  they  found 
The   vessel   was    a    convict    ship    from    Portland 

outward  bound ; 
When  a  boat  came  oflf  to  fetch  them,  though  they 

felt  it  very  kind, 
To   go    on    board    they   firmly    but    respectfully 

declined. 

As  both  the  happy  settlers  roared  with  laughter  at 

the  joke, 
They   recognised   a  gentlemanly    fellow    pulling 

stroke  : 
'Twas    Robinson — a   convict,  in    an  'unbecoming 

frock  ! 
Condemned  to  seven  years  for  misappropriating 

stock  ! ! ! 


324  Humorous  Verse 

They  laughed  no  more,  for  Somers  thought  he  had 

been  rather  rash 
In  knowing  one  whose  friend  had  misappropriated 

cash  ; 
And  Peter  thought  a  foolish  tack  he  must  have 

gone  upon 
In    making    the    acquaintance    of    a    friend    of 

Robinson. 

At    first    they    didn't    quarrel    very   openly,    I've 

heard  ; 
They  nodded  when  they  met,  and  now  and  then 

exchanged  a  word : 
The  word  grew  rare,  and  rarer  still  the  nodding  of 

the  head, 
And  when  they  meet  each  other  now,  they  cut 

each  other  dead. 

To  allocate   the  island  they  agreed  by  word  of 

mouth, 
And    Peter  takes   the   north   again,  and    Somers 

takes  the  south  ; 
And    Peter  has  the  oysters,  which    he    hates,   in 

layers  thick, 
And  Somers  has  the  turtle — turtle  always  makes 

him  sick. 

MIDDLE    AGE. 
By  R.  C.  Lehmann. 

When  that  my  years  were  fewer, 

Some  twenty  years  ago, 
And  all  that  is  was  newer. 

And  time  itself  seemed  slow, 
With  ardour  all  impassioned, 

I  let  my  hopes  fly  free. 
And  deemed  the  world  was  fashioned 

My  playing-field  to  be. 


Hitmofotts  Verse 

The  cup  of  joy  was  filled  then 

With  Fancy's  sparkling  wine  ; 
And  all  the  things  I  willed  then 

Seemed  destined  to  be  mine. 
Friends  had  I  then  in  plenty, 

And  every  friend  was  true  ; 
Friends  always  are  at  twenty, 

And  on  to  twenty-two. 

The  men  whose  hair  was  sprinkled 
With  little  flecks  of  gray, 

Whose  faded  brows  Avere  wrinkled- 
Sure  they  had  had  their  day. 

And  though  we  bore  no  malice, 
We  knew  their  hearts  were  cold. 

For  they  had  drained  their  chalice, 
And  now  were  spent  and  old. 

At  thirty,  we  admitted, 

A  man  may  be  alive, 
But  slower,  feebler  witted  ; 

And  done  at  thirty-five. 
If  Fate  prolongs  his  earth-days. 

His  joys  grow  fewer  still  ; 
And  after  five  more  birthdays 

He  totters  down  the  hill. 

We  were  the  true  immortals 

Who  held  the  earth  in  fee  ; 
For  us  were  flung  the  portals 

Of  fame  and  victory. 
The  days  were  bright  and  breezy, 

And  gay  our  banners  flew, 
And  every  peak  was  easy 

To  scale  at  twenty-two. 


i'^D 


326  Humorous  Verse 

And  thus  we  spent  our  gay  time 

As  having  much  to  spend  ; 
Swift,  swift,  that  pretty  playtime 

Flew  by  and  had  its  end. 
And  lo  !  without  a  warning 

I  woke,  as  others  do, 
One  fine  mid-winter  morning, 

A  man  of  forty-two. 

And  now  I  see  how  vainly 

Is  youth  with  ardour  fired  ; 
How  fondly,  how  insanely 

I  formerly  aspired. 
A  boy  may  still  detest  age, 

But  as  for  me  I  know, 
A  man  has  reached  his  best  age 

At  forty-two  or  so. 

For  youth  it  is  the  season 

Of  restlessness  and  strife  ; 
Of  passion  and  unreason, 

And  ignorance  of  life. 
Since,  though  his  cheeks  have  roses, 

No  boy  can  understand 
That  everything  he  knows  is 

A  graft  at  second  hand. 

But  we  have  toiled  and  wandered 

With  weary  feet  and  numb  ; 
Have  doubted,  sifted,  pondered, — 

How  else  should  knowledge  come  ? 
Have  seen,  too  late  for  heeding. 

Our  hopes  go  out  in  tears, 
Lost  in  the  dim  receding, 

Irrevocable  years. 


Humorous  Verse  327 

Yet,  though  with  busy  fingers 

No  more  we  wreathe  the  flowers, 
An  airy  perfume  lingers, 

A  brightness  still  is  ours. 
And  though  no  rose  our  cheeks  have, 

The  sky  still  shines  as  blue  ; 
And  still  the  distant  peaks  have 

The  glow  of  twenty-two. 

PENS^ES  DE  NOEL. 

By  A,  D.  GODLEY. 

When  the  landlord  wants  the  rent 

Ot  your  humble  tenement ; 

When  the  Christmas  bills  begin 

Daily,  hourly  pouring  in  ; 

When  you  pay  your  gas  and  poor  rate, 

Tip  the  rector,  fee  the  curate. 

Let  this  thought  your  spirit  cheer — 

Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 

When  the  man  who  brings  the  coal 
Claims  his  customary  dole  : 
When  the  postman  rings  and  knocks 
For  his  usual  Christmas-box  : 
When  you're  dunned  by  half  the  town 
With  demands  for  half-a-crown, — 
Think,  although  they  cost  you  dear, 
Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 

When  you  roam  from  shop  to  shop. 
Seeking,  till  you  nearly  drop, 
Christmas  cards  and  small  donations 
For  the  maw  of  your  relations. 
Questing  vainly  'mid  the  heap 
For  a  thing  that's  nice,  and  cheap  : 
Think,  and  check  the  rising  tear, 
Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 


Hiimofows  Verse 

Though  for  three  successive  days 
Business  quits  her  usual  ways  ; 
Though  the  milkman's  voice  be  dumb ; 
Though  the  paper  doesn't  come  ; 
Though  you  want  tobacco,  but 
Find  that  all  the  shops  are  shut : 
Bravely  still  your  sorrows  bear — 
Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 


When  mince-pies  you  can't  digest 
Join  with  waits  to  break  your  rest : 
When,  oh  when,  to  crown  your  woe, 
Persons  who  might  better  know 
Think  it  needful  that  you  should 
Don  a  gay  convivial  mood  : — 
Bear  with  fortitude  and  patience 
These  afflicting  dispensations  : 
Man  was  born  to  suffer  here  : 
Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 


THE  TOUR  THAT  NEVER  WAS. 
By  Arthur  A.  Svkes. 

Between  now  and  my  holidays  there  but  remain 
two  solid  days, 
And  thinking  where    I'll   spend   my  "vac  "has 
driven  me  wild  with  worry  ; 
In  vain  have  I  surveyed  acres  of  plans  and  maps 
and  Baedekers, 
And    purchased    a    small    library    of    "  Handy 
Guides  "  of  Murrav. 


Humorous  Verse  329 

Shall     I,   for    want   of    better,    say    I'll    view   the 
\'ierwaldstattersee, 
Or  watch  the  Staubbach  fall  in  mist  like  web  of 
an  arachnid  ? 
Or  else,  the  dawn  to  see,  get  up  o'ernight  upon 
the  Righi-top — 
But   no,    I    feel   that  Jodel-land  is  now  a  trifle 
hackneyed  I 

For  a  flutter  at  chemin-de /er  I  might  (the  place 
is  handy)  fare 
To  Trouville,  and  along  \h&  plage  a  "  Milor  "  on 
the  spree  be  ;  , 
1  could  in  Teuton  77tusikshaus  (till    I   of  Wagner 
grew  sick)  souse 
In    "  Hofbrau,"   and    essay    to    flirt    with   each 
biergarten  Hebe. 

• 
But   then,  if   I    to   Norway   turn,  as  Ibsenite   I'd 
more  weight  earn — 
And  salmon-fishing  mid  the   Kvajns  is  certainly 
high-class  sport ; 
Or  rumble  in    a  tarantass  o'er   Russia  ?     No,  an 
arrant  ass 
I  were,  to  go  where  night  and  day  you're  bad- 
gered for  your  passport  1 

I'd    like   (my   programme's    large)    a    panoramic 
glimpse  of  far  Japan 
From    Fuji,    and   round    Biwa    Lake    I'd   in   a 
jinrickshaw  go  I 
Or  even — for  a  hasty  bet — I'd  go  "on  tramp  "'  and 
pace  Thibet, 
Or  "  blue  "  my  surplus  cash  at  what  the  Yankees 
call  "  Shecawgo." 


33°  Humorous  Verse 

Look  here  !    Til  have  to  sham  a  tour  (though  but 
a  humble  amatoor 
At  yarning),  as  this   sort  of  thing  is  giving  me 
the  fidgets  ! 
I'll — since  I've  eased  my  intellect  by  tripping  thus 
in  print — elect 
To  stay  at  home  and  twiddle  (for  the  sake  of 
rhyme)  my  digits  I 

THE  LOST  PLEAID. 
By  Arthur  Reed  Ropes 
(Adrian  Ross). 

'TvVAS  a  pretty  little  maiden 

In  a  garden  gray  and  old, 
Where  the  apple  trees  were  laden 

With  the  magic  fruit  of  gold  ; 
But  she  strayed  beyond  the  portal 

Of  the  garden  of  the  Sun,? 
And  she  flirted  with  a  mortal, 

Which  she  oughtn't  to  have  done  ! 

For  a  giant  was  her  father  and  a  goddess  was 
her  mother, 

She  was  Merope  or  Sterope — the  one  or  else 
the  other ; 

And  the  man  was  not  the  equal,  though  present- 
able and  rich, 

Of  Merope  or  Sterope  — I  don't  remember  which  I 

Now  the  giant's  daughters  seven. 

She  among  them,  if  you  please, 
Were  translated  to  the  heaven 

As  the  starry  Pleiades  ! 
But  amid  their  constellation 

One  alone  was  always  dark. 
For  she  shrank  from  observation 

Or  censorious  remark. 


Humorous  Verse  331 

She  had  yielded  to  a  mortal  when  he  came  to 

flirt  and  flatter. 
She  was  Merope  or  Sterope— the  former  or  the 

latter  ; 
So  the  planets  all  ignored  her,  and  the  comets 

wouldn't  call 
On  Merope  or  Sterope— I  am  not  sure  at  all ! 

But  the  Dog-star,  brightly  shining 

In  the  hottest  of  July, 
Saw  the  pretty  Pleiad  pining 

In  the  shadow  of  the  sky, 
And  he  courted  her  and  kissed  her 

Till  she  kindled  into  light ; 
And  the  Pleiads'  erring  sister 

Was  the  lady  of  the  night  I 

So  her  former  indiscretion  as  a  fault  was  never 

reckoned, 
To    Merope  or  Sterope — the  first   or   else   the 

second, 
And  you'll   never  see  so  rigidly  respectable  a 

dame 
As  Merope  or  Sterope — I  can't  recall  her  name! 

BALLADE  OF  CRICKET. 
By  Andrew  Lang. 

The  burden  of  hard  hitting  :  slog  away  I 

Her«  shalt  thou  make  a  "  five  "  and  there  a 
"  four," 
And  then  upon  thy  bat  shalt  lean  and  say. 

That  thou  art  in  for  an  uncommon  score. 

Yea,  the  loud  ring  applauding  thee  shall  roar, 
And  thou  to  rival  Thornton  shalt  aspire. 

When    low,   the    Umpire   gives   thee    "leg 
before," — 
"  This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire  I " 


332  Humorous  Verse 

The  burden  of  much  bowling,  when  the  stay 

Of  all  thy  team  is  "  collared,"  swift  or  slower, 

When  "  bailers  "  break  not  in  their  wonted  way, 
And  "  yorkers  "  come  not  off  as  heretofore, 
When  length  balls   shoot  no  more,  ah  never 
more. 

When  all  deliveries  lose  their  former  fire. 

When  bats  seem  broader  than  the  broad  barn- 
door,— 

"  This  is  the  end  of  every  man'a  desire  !  " 

The  burden  of  long  fielding,  when  the  clay 

Clings    to    thy    shoon    in    sudden    showei-'s 
downpour, 

And  running  still  thou  stumblest,  or  the  ray 

Of  blazing  suns  doth  bite  and  burn  thee  sore, 
And  blind  thee  till,  forgetful  of  thy  lore. 

Thou  dost  most  mournfully  misjudge  a  "skyer" 
And  lose  a  match  the  Fates  cannot  restore, — 

"  This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire  !" 

Envoy. 

Alas,  yet  liefer  on  youth's  hither  shore 
Would  I  be  some  poor  Player  on  scant  hire 

Than  king  among  the  old  who  play  no  more, — 
"  This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire  ! " 


THE  FAMOUS  BALLAD  OF  THE  JUBILEE 

CUP. 

By  Arthur  T.  Quii.ler  Couch. 

You  may  lift  me  up  in  your  arms,  lad,  and  turn  my 

face  to  the  sun. 
For  a  last  look  back  at  the  dear  old  track  where 

the  Jubilee  Cup  was  won  ; 


Humorous  Verse  333 

And  draw  your  chair  to  my  side,  lad — no,  thank 

ye,  I  feel  no  pain  — 
For   I'm  going  out  with  the  tide,  lad ;  but  I'll  tell 

you  the  tale  again. 

I'm  seventy-nine  or  nearly,  and  my  head  it  has 

long  turned  grey. 
But  it  all  comes  back  as  clearly  as  though  it  was 

yesterday — 
The  dust,  and  the  bookies  shouting  around  the 

clerk  of  the  scales, 
And  the  clerk  of  the  course,  and  the  nobs  in  force, 

and  'Is  'Ighness  the  Pr**ce  of  W*les. 

Twas  a  nine-hole  thresh  to  wind'ard  (but  none  of 

us  cared  for  that). 
With  a  straight  run  home  to  the  service  tee,  and  a 

finish  along  the  flat, 
"  Stiff?"  ah,  well  you  may  say  it !  Spot  barred,  and 

at  five  stone  ten  ! 
But  at  two  and  a  bisque   I'd  ha'  run  the  risk ;  for 

I  was  a  greenhorn  then. 

So  we  stripped  to  the  B.  Race  signal,  the  old  red 

swallowtail — 
There  was  young  Ben  Bolt  and  the  Portland  Colt, 

and  Aston  Villa,  and  Yale  ; 
And  W.  G.,  and  Steinitz,  Leander  and  The  Saint, 
And  the  G*rm*n  Emp*r*r's  Meteor,  a-looking  as 

fresh  as  paint ; 

John    Roberts   (scratch),  and   Safety  Match,  The 

Lascar,  and  Loma  Doone, 
Oom  Paul  (a  bye),  and  Romany  Rye,  and  me  upon 

Wooden  Spoon  ; 
And  some  of  us  cut  for  partners,  and  some  of  us 

strung  for  baulk, 
And  some  of  us  tossed  for  stations — But  there, 

what  use  to  talk  ? 


334  Humorous  Verse 

Three-quarter-back  on  the  Kingsclere   crack  was 

station  enough  for  me, 
With  a  fresh  jackyarder  blowing  and  the  Vicarage 

goal  a-lee  1 
And  I  leaned  and  patted  her  centre-bit,  and  eased 

the  quid  in  her  cheek, 
With  a  "  Soh  my  lass  ! "  and  a  "  Woa  you  brute  ! " 

— for  she  could  do  all  but  speak. 


She  was  geared  a  thought  too  high  perhaps  ;    she 

was  trained  a  trifle  fine  ; 
But  she  had  the  grand  reach  forward  !     I  ne\er 

saw  such  a  Ime  1 
Smooth-bored,  clean  run,    from   her   fiddle  head 

with  its  dainty  ear  half-cock, 
Hard-bit,  pur  sang^  from  her  overhang  to  the  heel 

of  her  off  hind  sock. 


Sir  Robert  he  walked  beside  me  as  I  worked  her 

down  to  the  mark  ; 
"There's  money  on  this,  my  lad,"  said  he,  "and 

most  of  'em's  running  dark  ; 
But  ease  the  sheet  if  you're  bunkered,  and  pack 

the  scrummages  tight, 
And  use  your  slide  at  the  distance,  and  we'll  drink 

to  your  health  to-night  1  " 

But  I  bent  and  tightened  my  stretcher.     Said  I  to 

myself,  said  I — 
"John   Jones,  this  here  is  the   Jubilee  Cup,  and 

you  have  to  do  or  die." 
And  the  words  weren't  hardly  spoken  when  the 

umpire  shouted  "  Play  I " 
And  we  all  kicked  off  from  the   Gasworks   End 

with  a  "  Yoicks  ! "  and  a  "  Gone  Away  ! " 


Humorous  Verse  335 

And  at  first  I  thought  of  nothing,  as  the  clay  flew 

by  in  lumps, 
But  stuck  to  the  old  Ruy  Lopez,  and  wondered 

who'd  call  for  trumps, 
And  luffed  her  close  to  the  cushion,  and  watched 

each  one  as  it  broke, 
And  in  triple  file  up  the  Rowley  Mile  we  went  like 

a  trail  of  smoke. 


The    Lascar    made    the    running    but    he   didn't 

amount  to  much, 
For  old  Oom  Paul  was  quick  on  the  ball,  and 

headed  it  back  to  touch  ; 
And  the  whole  first  flight  led  off  with  the  right  as 

The  Saint  took  up  the  pace. 
And   drove    it   clean    to    the    putting   green   and 

trumped  it  there  with  an  ace. 

John  Roberts  had  given  a  miss  in  baulk,  but  Villa 

cleared  with  a  punt ; 
And  keeping  her  service  hard  and  low  the  Meteor 

forged  to  the  front ; 
With  Romany  Rye  to  windward  at  dormy  and  two 

to  play, 
And  Yale  close  up — but  a  Jubilee  Cup  isn't  run 

for  every  day. 

We  laid  our  course  for  the  Warner-  I  tell  you  the 

pace  was  hot ! 
And    again    off    Tattenham     Corner    a    blanket 

covered  the  lot. 
Check  side  I    Check  side  !    now  steer  her  wide  1. 

and  barely  an  inch  of  room, 
With    The    Lascar's   tail    over    our    lee  rail   and 

brushing  Leander's  boom. 


33 6  Humorous  Verse 

We  were  running  as  strong  as  ever — eight  knots — 

but  it  couldn't  last  ; 
For  the  spray  and  the  bails  were  flying,  the  whole 

field  tailing  fast  ; 
And  the  Portland  Colt  had  shot  his  bolt,  and  Yale 

was  bumped  at  the  Doves, 
And  The  Lascar  resigned  to  Steinitz,  stalemated  in 

fifteen  moves. 

It   was   bellows   to   mend   with   Roberts — starred 

three  for  a  penalty  kick  : 
But  he  chalked  his  cue  and  gave  'em  the  butt,  and 

Oom  Paul  marked  the  trick  — 
"  Offside — No    Ball— and    at  fourteen  all  !    Mark 

Cock  !  and  two  for  his  nob  !  " 
When  W.  G.  ran  clean  through  his  lee  and  beat 

him  twice  with  a  lob. 


He  yorked  him  twice  on  a  crumbling  pitch  and 

wiped  his  eye  with  a  brace. 
But  his  guy-rope  split  with  the  stram  of  it  and  he 

dropped  back  out  of  the  race  ; 
And  I   drew  a  bead   on  the  Meteor's   lead,   and 

challenging  none  too  soon. 
Bent  over  and   patted   her  garboard  strake,  and 

called  upon  Wooden  Spoon. 


She  was  all  of  a  shiver  forward,  the  spoondrift  thick 

on  her  flanks, 
But  I'd  brought  her  an  easy  gambit,  and  nursed  her 

over  the  banks ; 
She  answered  her  helm — the  darling !  and  woke 

up  now  with  a  rush, 
While  the  Meteor's  jock,  he  sat  like  a  rock — he 

knew  we  rode  for  his  brush  ! 


Humorous  Verse  337 

There  was  no  one  else  left  in  it.     The  Saint  was 

using  his  whip, 
And    Safety    Match,    with   a   lofting    catch,   was 

pocketed  deep  at  slip ; 
Andfyoung  Ben  Bolt  with  his  niblick  took  miss 

at  Leander's  lunge. 
But  topped  the  net  with  the  ricochet,  and  Steinitz 

threw  up  the  sponge. 

But  none  of  the  lot  could  stop  the  rot— nay,  don't 

ask  7ne  to  stop  I 
The  Villa  had  called  for  lemons,  Oom  Paul  had 

taken  his  drop, 
And  both  were  kicking  the  referee.     Poor  fellow  \ 

he  done  his  best  ; 
Jiut,  being  in  doubt,  he'd  ruled  them  out— which 

he  always  did  when  pressed. 


So,   inch   by   inch,    I    tightened    the   winch,   and 

chucked  the  sandbags  out — 
I    heard   the  nursery   cannons  pop,   I    heard  the 

bookies  shout  : 
*'  The    Meteor  wins  \ "    "  No,    Wooden    Spoon  !  " 

"  Check  ! "  '•  Vantage  !  "  "  Leg  Before  ! " 
"  Last  Lap  !  "   "  Pass  Nap  !"  At  his  saddle-flap  I 

put  up  the  helm  and  wore. 


You  may  overlap  at  the  saddle-flap,  and  yet  be 

loo'd  on  the  tape  : 
And  it  all  depends  upon  changing  ends,  how  a 

seven-year-old  will  shape ; 
It  was  tack  and  tack  to  the  Lepe  and  back — a  fair 

ding-dong  to  the  Ridge, 
And  he  led   by  his  forward  canvas  yet  as  we  shot 

'neath  Hammersmith  Bridge. 

z 


33^  Humofous  Verse 

He  led  by  his  forward  canvas — he  led  from  his 

strongest  suit — 
But  along  we  went  on   a  roaring  scent,   and   at 

Fawley  I  gained  a  foot. 
He  fisted  oflf  with  his  jigger,  and  gave'me  his  wash — 

too  late  ! 
Deuce — Vantage — Check  !    By  neck  and  neck  we 

rounded  into  the  straight. 

I  could  hear  the  "  Conquering  'Ero  "  a-crashing  on 

Godfrey's  band, 
And  my  hopes  fell  sudden  to  zero,  just  there,  with 

the  race  in  hand — 
In  sight  of  the  Turf's  Blue  Ribbon,  in  sight  of  the 

umpire's  tape, 
As   I  felt  the  tack  of  her  spinnaker  c-rack  !  as  I 

heard  the  steam  escape  I 

Had   1  lost  at  that  awful  juncture  my  presence  of 

mind  ?     .     .     .     but  no  I 
I  leaned  and  felt  for  the  puncture,  and  plugged  it 

there  with  my  toe     .     .     . 
Hand  over  hand  by  the  Members'  Stand  I  lifted 

and  eased  her  up, 
Shot — clean  and  fair — to  the  crossbar  there,  and 

landed  the  Jubilee  Cup  1 

"  The  odd  by  a  head,  and  leg  before,"  so  the  Judge 

he  gave  the  word  : 
And  the  Umpire  shouted  "Over!"  but   I   neither 

spoke  nor  stirred. 
They  crowded  round  :  for  there  on  the  ground  I 

lay  in  a  dead-cold  swoon, 
Pitched  neck  and   crop  on  the   turf  atop   of  my 

beautiful  Wooden  Spoon. 


] 


Humorous  Verse  i^^ 

Her  dewlap  tire  was  punctured,  her  bearings  all 

red  hot ; 
She'd  a  lolling  tongue,  and  her  bowsprit  sprung, 

and  her  running  gear  in  a  knot ; 
And  amid  the  sobs  of  her  backers,  Sir    Robert 

loosened  her  girth 
And  led  her  away  to  the   knacker's.      She   had 

raced  her  last  on  earth  I 

But  1  mind  me  well  of  the  tear  that  fell  from  the 

eye  of  our  noble  Pr*nce, 
And  the  things  he  said  as  he  tucked  me  in  bed — 

and  I've  lain  there  ever  since  ; 
Tho'  it  all  gets  mixed  up  queerly  that  happened 

before  my  spill, — 
But  I  draw  my  thousand  yearly :  it'll  pay  for  the 

doctor's  bill. 

I'm  going  out  with  the  tide,  lad — you'll  dig  me  a 

numble  grave, 
And  whiles  you  will  bring  your  bride,   lad,  and 

your  sons,  if  sons  you  have. 
And  there  when  the  dews  are  weeping,  and  the 

echoes  murmur  "  Peace  I " 
And  the  salt,  salt  tide  comes  creeping  and  covers 

the  popping-crease ; 

In  the  hour  when  the  ducks  deposit    their   eggs 

with  a  boasted  force. 
They'll  look    and    whisper    "  How  was  it  ? "   and 

you'll  take  them  over  the  course, 
And  your  voice  will  break  as  you  try  to  speak  of 

the  glorious  first  of  June, 
When  the  Jubilee  Cup,  with  John  Jones  up,  was 

won  upon  Wooden  Spoon 


340  Humorous  Verse 

BANG  KO  LI  DYE. 
By  Barry  Pain. 

"  Gimme  my  scarlet  tie," 

Says  r. 
"  Gimme  my  brownest  boots  and  hat,. 
Gimme  a  vest  with  a  pattern  fancy, 
Gimme  a  gel  with  some  style,  like  Nancy, 
And  then — well,  it's  gimes  as  I'll  be  at, 
Seein'  as  its  bangkolidye," 

Says  I. 

"  May  miss  it,  but  we'll  try," 

Says  I. 
Nancy  ran  like  a  frightened  'en 
Hup  the  steps  of  the  bloomin'  styeshun. 
Bookin'-orfus  at  last  I  Salvyeshun  I 
An'  the  two  returns  was  five-and-ten. 
"An'  tjavellin'  mikes  your  money  fly,'' 

Says  I. 

"  This  atmosphere  is  'igh," 

Says  I. 
Twelve  in  a  carriage  is  pretty  thick, 
When  'ite  of  the  twelve  is  a  sittin',  smokin'  ; 
Nancy  started  'er  lawkin,  and  jokin', 
Syin'  she  'oped  as  we  shouldn't  be  sick  ; 
"  Don't  go  on,  or  you'll  mike  me  die!" 

Says  I. 

"  Three  styeshuns  we've  porst  by," 

Says  I. 
"  So  hout  we  get  at  the  next,  my  gel." 
When  we  got  hout,  she  wer  pale  and  saint-like, 
White  in  the  gills,  and  sorter  faint-like, 
An'  said  my  cigaw  'ad  a  powerful  smell, 
"  Well,  it's  the  sime  as  I  always  buy," 

Says  I 


Humorous  Verse  34  f 

"'Ites  them  clouds  in  the  sky," 

Says  I. 
"  Uon't  Hke  'em  at  all,"  I  says,  "that's  flat— 
l>lack  as  your  boots  and  sorter  thick'nin'." 
"  If  it's  wet,"  says  she,  "  it  will  be  sick'nin'. 
I  wish  as  I'd  brought  my  other  'at." 
"  You  thinks  too  much  of  your  finery," 

Says  I. 


"  Keep  them  sanwidjus  dry," 

Says  I, 
When  the  rine  came  down  in  a  reggiler  sheet. 
But  what  can  yo  do  with  one  umbrella. 
And  a  damp  gel  strung  on  the  arm  of  a  fella  ? 
"  Well,  rined-on  'am  ain't  pleasant  to  eat, 
If  yer  don't  believe  it,  just  go  an  try," 

Says  I. 

"  There  is  some  gels  whort  cry," 

Says  I. 
"  And  there  is  some  don't  shed  a  tear, 
But  just  get  tempers,  and  when  they  has'em 
Reaches  a  pint  in  their  sarcasem, 
As  on'y  a  dorg  could  bear  to  'ear." 
This  unto  Nancy  by-and-by, 

Says  I.  • 

All's  hover  now.     And  why, 

Says  I. 
But  why  did  I  wear  them  boots,  that  vest  ? 
'1  he  bloom  is  off  'em  ;  they're  sad  to  see  ; 
And  hev'rythin's  offtwixt  Nancy  and  me; 
And  my  trousers  is  off  and  gone  to  be  pressed- 
And  ain't  this  a  blimed  bangkolidye  ? 

Says  I. 


342  Htimorous  Verse 

SINCERE  FLATTERY  OF  F.  W.  H.  MYERS. 

TO  A.  T.  M. 

By  J.  K.  Stephen. 

See  where  the  K.,*  in  sturdy  self-reliance, 
Thoughtful  and  placid  as  a  brooding  dove, 

Stands,  firmly  sucking,  in  the  cause  of  science, 
Just  such  a  peppermint  as  schoolboys  love. 

Suck,  placid  K.,  the  world  will  be  thy  debtor ; 

Though  thine  eyes  water  and  thine  heart  grow 
faint, 
Suck :  and  the  less  thou  likest  it  the  better  ; 

Suck  for  our  sake,  and  utter  no  complaint. 

Near  thee  a  being,  passionate  and  gentle, 
Man's  latest  teacher,  wisdom's  pioneer. 

Calmly,  majestically  monumental. 

Stands  :  the  august  Telepathist  is  here. 

Waves  of  perception,  subtle  emanations. 
Thrill  through  the  ether,  circulate  amain ; 

Delicate  soft  impalpable  sensations, 
Bcwn  of  thy  palate,  quiver  in  his  brain. 

Lo  !  with  a  voice  unspeakably  dramatic, 

Lo  I  with  a  gesture  singularly  fine, 
He  makes  at  last  a  lucid  and  emphatic 

Statement  of  what  is  in  that  mouth  of  thine. 

He  could  detect  that  peppermint's  existence, 
He  read  its  nature  in  the  book  of  doom  ; 

Standing  at  some  considerable  distance  ; 
Standing,  in  fact,  in  quite  another  room. 

Was  there  a  faint  impenetrable  essence 
Wafted  towards  him  from  the  sucking  K.  ? 

Did  some  pale  ghost  inform  him  of  its  presence  ? 
Or  did  it  happen  in  some  other  way  ? 

*  The  Cambridge  nickname  for  the  late  Dr.  A.  T.  Myers. 


Humorous  Verse  343 

These  are  the  questions  nobody  can  answer, 
These  are  the  problems  nobody  can  solve  ; 

Only  we  know  that  Man  is  an  Advancer  : 
Only  we  know  the  Centuries  revolve. 


To  R.  K. 
By  J.  K.  Stephen. 

As  long'  I  dwell  on  some  stupendous 

And  tremendous  (Heaven  defend  us  ! ) 

Monstr  -inform  -ingens-horrenduus 

Demoniaco-seraphic 

Penman  s  latest  piece  of  graphic. 

Browning. 

Will  there  never  come  a  season 

Which  shall  rid  us  from  the  curse 
Of  a  prose  which  knows  no  reason 

And  an  unmelodious  verse  : 
When  the  world  shall  cease  to  wonder 

At  the  genius  of  an  Ass, 
And  a  boy's  eccentric  blunder 

Shall  not  bring  success  to  pass  : 

When  mankind  shall  be  delivered 

From  the  clash  of  magazines, 
And  the  inkstand  shall  be  shivered 

Into  countless  smithereens  : 
When  there  stands  a  muzzled  stripling, 

Mute,  beside  a  muzzled  bore  : 
When  the  Rudyards  cease  from  Kipling 

And  the  Haggards  Ride  no  more  ? 


27133 


•lilN-'-Klj    8*    H.    riBTlIK    AND    COMPANY,    IJMITBn, 
ClIY   KOaI;. 


—mMaMBaBM 


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